


Risen

by shirochigo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Death, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Lovecraftian, M/M, Necromancy, Original Character(s), Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-09-27 12:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirochigo/pseuds/shirochigo
Summary: Dean meets his untimely end during a hunt. However, a servant of Death raises him from the darkness and his world slowly unravels, threatening to consume anything and everything he ever held dear. The boys teeter on the edge against forces unknown, led by a mysterious stranger, bound by the pale mark.





	1. Rumors

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank jaalsgf for being my beta reader and gushing with me about the fandom, Destiel, and more! You've really given me the support I need to keep going!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Sam, and Cas find themselves in Pittsburgh on a case. Something goes terribly wrong.

* * *

It started like any other day.

The hunt was on for the Winchester brothers and their guardian angel. They traveled up to the northeast on a tip from Sam’s research. He stumbled upon an article that claimed unnatural were occurring in southwestern Pennsylvania. The brothers themselves have been around PA a couple of times but not for pleasure. It was never a family road trip for them despite Dean always insisting they should. The Impala stopped at a light as they took in their surroundings. The city buzzed with activity, showcasing many walks of life on every sidewalk. The sun dipping past the horizon was signaling the cover of night. The three of them were aching to get out of the Impala to stretch their legs. Sam watched a pedestrian ignore the orange crosswalk sign with reckless abandon.

“You remember this state, Cas?” he asked. He swapped his attention back to his notes.

“I remember that they put their French fries on their sandwiches. I find it to be an unnecessary addition,” Cas replied. "Though I suppose any establishment could add the two together."

"That was only Pittsburgh. That restaurant isn't anywhere else in the state. Or the country."

“You remember thinking the football team was a band of thieves?” asked Dean, a shitty smirk forming across his mouth.

Cas looked down at his lap where his hands rested. “Please don’t bring that up again.”

Dean glanced at the rear-view mirror, checking on Cas’ reaction. Sam smiled without looking up, chuckling at the two of them. Even though their time was short in the city of Pittsburgh, the three still managed to indulge a little bit. Dean still preferred a good old burger but any food is still food.

“These murders don’t seem too out of the ordinary,” said Sam, flipping another page. “They’re... gruesome.” He had printed out some of the articles to file away but had no access to pictures. The killings started in the countryside but spread like a disease. Slow and insidious. The community met with the local authorities but a lack of answers left much to the imagination.

“What’re you thinking, Sam?” asked Dean, making a turn towards their approaching hotel.

“It’s all over the place. I can’t seem to find a pattern.”

“We’ll figure it out. First, I gotta take a wicked piss.”

The hotel was nothing special since it was the cheapest one in downtown Pittsburgh. They wouldn’t be staying too long to help keep the moths away from their wallets. They also couldn’t rely on Castiel's mind tricks too often.

Once they were inside, Dean immediately made a beeline for the bathroom. He did his business with a heavy sigh of relief much to his brother’s chagrin. Sam claimed one of the two beds, his eyes still glued to his notes and Cas sat in a chair by the desk. It was cozy enough and seemed to be at one end of downtown Pittsburgh. The beds were comfortable with high headboards. The carpeting seemed decent and they had a view of the river outside of their room.

“Thank God we made it in time,” said Dean. He exited the bathroom and kicked back onto the remaining bed, his arms behind his head. Cas stared at him with intense eyes.

“That took more time than usual,” the angel commented with a hint of concern in his voice. Dean frowned and looked up at the ceiling.

“Cas. Tell me you weren’t watching me piss.”

Cas tilted his head as if confused. “I see most of the things that you do.”

Dean groaned and covered his eyes with one hand. “C’mon man! Not the bathroom! That’s sacred space! A man is most vulnerable during alone time on the porcelain throne.”

“But… you weren’t sitting.”

Dean sighed with frustration. Cas still had a habit of watching over the two brothers without any semblance of shame. They requested for him to stop watching them when they slept and Cas had agreed. Yet, he still had his “eyes” on them. Both Winchesters had to stay on high alert in the past and sleeping was one of a hunter’s most vulnerable periods. The angel wanted to be vigilant, allowing the two of them much-needed rest. But neither brother could get over the mental image of a man watching them in the dark. They had some bad memories of trying to sleep throughout their lives.

“Whatever man. Pass me the damn remote,” said Dean, pointing over to the TV. At least it was a nice flat screen and Dean couldn’t ask for more than that. Cas reached over to the remote and walked it over to Dean.

“You could have tossed it.”

“I didn’t think that would be wise. You hold the television in high regard.”

“Damn right I do. It’s the little things, Cas. Stuff like this gets you through the day. You can only do so much ass-kicking before your feet hurt. A good drama takes the edge off.”

“Please don’t make me listen to a soap opera,” said Sam. “I have enough of a headache without trying to figure out which one of them has amnesia. Again.”

Dean turned to his brother and raised his brow, seeming incredulous. “You shut your mouth. Amnesia is a serious medical condition."

“How serious can it be when everyone gets it in the show? Are they all bashing their heads off of hard surfaces all the time?”

“It’s a plot point, Sam! It keeps the story going! It keeps information hidden until it's revealed at the last second to save someone’s life!”

“They aren’t using enough force…” Sam muttered to himself, flipping another page of notes.

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Reading these notes.”

Cas raised an eyebrow and looked over at Sam. “Is there any other place for you to look deeper into the matter in the city? A library or-“

Dean raised his hand up at him. “Ah-ah. TV time. Two babes are trying to jog this dude’s memory by telling him why they love him more than the other. Kind of a bigger... heart competition. Can’t you take it outside? Scope things out a little?”

“Dean,” said both Sam and Cas. The fact that they were reprimanding him in unison was scary enough and he sighed.

“Okay, okay! I’ll find a news channel or something. Buzzkills.”

As Dean flipped through the channels, the local news station appeared right on queue. It seemed like they were already in the middle of a scoop when the three of them tuned in. In the upper left corner was an occult symbol, painted in red. It looked like some shitty clip art got inserted as a placeholder. But there would be no good in causing mass paranoia with a good dose of the supernatural. Most people were already skeptical. But seeing it reported on their local network might flip a switch.

“-as we continue updating you on the current possibility of a city-wide curfew. Crazy stuff isn’t it, Chris?”

The reporter was standing in a suburban neighborhood surrounded by authorities. Neighbors were standing away from the scene, arms crossed and faces twisted in fear. No one looked particularly suspicious but the three of them knew better. It was better to blend in and look as typical and unassuming as possible.

“Crazy it is, Ken. This is the fifth victim in a string of bizarre murders in Allegheny County. Thirty-four year old Nisha Hult found dead in her home after a neighbor caught wind of a strange smell. Police found Nisha in her bedroom but they have refused to comment any further. Forensics teams that were at the scene seemed particularly disturbed. As far as leads on the culprit go, the police are still working on any possible leads. Things appear grim at the crime scene and the entire neighborhood mourns her loss.”

“Thanks Chris. Stay safe out there. Now turning to the next segment of-“

Dean looked to his left at Sam and then to his right at Cas before looking back up at the ceiling again. They had to get to the crime scene to investigate as soon as possible. But, there was a sinking feeling in his stomach that he couldn’t shake off. He didn’t feel nervous and frightened. He felt uneasy. Sure the three of them have seen some bad shit before but the authorities had training for this type of shit. The Forensics team documented and catalogued body parts. He remembered seeing one of the women in her uniform. Sitting by herself and staring at the ground, wide-eyed.

Sam stood up and took his laptop to the desk, switching with Castiel. “I’m gonna do some research on the other murders,” he declared. Once the article got pulled up, Sam placed his elbow on the desk and held up his chin.

Dean kicked off his shoes and removed his plaid shirt to get a little more comfortable on his bed. His head sunk deep into the pillow, eliciting a small smile. “You do that, Sam,” he replied, getting even cozier in bed and closing his eyes.

“What about you?” asked Cas. Dean opened one eye and there was the angel, standing over him like a mobile over a crib. Except this mobile had unkempt hair, peach fuzz, and an untraceable expression. Dean closed his eyes again and sighed.

“Well it’s only nine. We’ll need some time to kill before we can sneak onto the scene of the crime. Let’s wait until they leave, head over, and turn that house inside out. But I’m gonna shut my eyes for a bit.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Dean shifted in the bed, his muscles relaxing after a long drive. Even after a few more moments, he didn’t hear any footsteps leading away from him. All he heard was Sam’s occasional clicks. God damn it. He sighed and put his hands on the back of his head.

“Without you watching,” Dean emphasized. Cas’s eyes darted elsewhere.

“Right.”

* * *

“So I don’t think it’s a ghost,” Sam began. “These killings are too far apart for a ghost. It could be an object that it’s attached to but that seems unlikely. Vampires don’t usually stick around long enough to chop up their victims. Especially outside of a nest. I did some searching and Facebook stalking and it looked like the victims weren't related in any way. A suburban mom, a big biker dude, two high school kids, and recently that Nisha woman who worked as a part-time docent.”

“All from different areas?” asked Dean, taking a drink of water.

“Yeah. Different towns and everything. I did manage to find a picture of one of the victims by the way.”

“How bad is it?”

“Worse,” Sam replied. There was a slight sigh of resignation as he pulled up the picture on his laptop. He almost didn’t want to turn it around. Dean sat straight up to try to get a better look. Cas was standing by the window and turned his head.

It was by no means a close-up shot of the victim. It looked like someone had managed to sneak by the police tape and snap a picture on their phone. It was blurry but there was no mistake about what went on. There was a middle-aged woman in her dining room. It looked like she was in the middle of dinner before she found herself on the table. An ambush most likely. She was lying flat on the surface and there were handles sticking out of her visible hand and foot. Something was hanging from the ceiling above her. Dean was squinting to try to see clearer but to no avail.

“That was all this kid got on his phone and he posted it on reddit. Her hands and legs got skewered through the table to keep her from moving. Turns out some fishing line held her torn out tongue to the ceiling fan. They left the fan on and it was ripping out her tongue out real slow. The fan wasn’t strong enough to hurt her but there were signs that the blades got pushed to speed up the process. She was in pure agony the whole time. By the time the cops showed up, her tongue had already been-“

Dean held up a hand to stop him and interjected with, “Alright Sam. I’m good on the new _Saw_ script. We ready to stake it out?”

Sam closed his laptop and tucked it away. “Yeah. Let’s get this over with. I'd rather be in the loop at all times.”

* * *

“Dude! The roads suck!” Dean exclaimed in a huff. Vehicles littered the roads of Oakland, creating little space for the Impala to pass. It was a popular place to dine and hang out. It didn’t help that there were two universities nearby. Luckily, their sights were set on the outskirts of suburbia, hidden away from the hot spots.

“How do the people here drive so well amidst the labyrinth of obstacles?” asked Cas, eyeing the passing side view mirrors of other cars.

Dean narrowed his eyes and grunted. “They don’t, Cas. They hope for the best. Jesus! That park job was a shit show!”

“C’mon Dean. The car will be fine. We just need to find a safe place to park,” Sam chimed in.

Dean glared at him. “Oh sure. Let's go scouting for some djinn. They might give us a parking spot outside of their Indiana Jones hideout if we kiss enough ass.”

Cas seemed puzzled at the comment. “I don’t believe that method would work. A less direct approach would yield better results and you could-“

“Shut up, Cas.”

Cas winced and leaned back against his seat, a slight pout forming on his face as he crossed his arms. “I don’t know why you mentioned djinn if you didn’t want some tactical strategies for negotiation. You know how conniving those creatures are.”

“Oh don’t give me that. I’m already pissed off that to park in this fuckin’ town you need to offer your soul to a groundhog.”

Cas was silent, crossing his arms and raising his brow as if deep in thought.

“What?” Dean asked with a frown.

“... This city worships a groundhog?”

Dean paused for a moment, trying not to roll his eyes right out of his head. “No Cas. They worship pirates.”

“I’m… confused. Are you referencing something?”

“Forget it. We’re here,” said Dean. He could swear a vein in his forehead was going to pop. It wasn’t so much Cas’ lack of local knowledge but the assholes that almost hit his baby on the way here. No that wasn't right. The Impala was always in danger the moment they got here. It’s like traffic lights don’t exist and every pedestrian has a death wish. Better than Ohio though.

“It's quiet out here,” Sam declared. Aside from the crickets and the occasional passerby, it seemed deserted. The younger Winchester zipped up his jacket as he closed the passenger door. “And it’s pretty cold now.”

“Pittsburgh’s got a thing for pissing off the weather for some reason. It’s always too hot or too cold. Like some kind of Goldilocks paradox,” Dean replied. Cas closed the door to the back seat and placed his hands back in the pockets of his trench coat. He joined the other two at the open trunk of the Impala. Their extensive assortment of weapons glinted in the light, highlighting versatility. But their predicament limited their options. They had no idea what they were actually going to face if there was some kind of creature. Did they have what they needed to kill it or banish it? They weren't sure but they had experience in these types of situations before. They didn't end up with the worst results. Or the best.

“Do you sense anything Cas?” asked Sam, eyeing the smaller firearms. “Anything weird or evil or demonic?”

“No, not particularly. But, I do sense the victim’s body in the house.”

All three of them glanced over at the house, surrounded by a web of yellow police tape. It didn’t look like anyone decided to stick around for whatever reason. Not that they wanted to deal with pretending to be FBI agents for the hundredth time. Dean scrunched up his face at Cas. “Wait. You’re telling me that they didn’t move the body?”

“Yes.”

“Why the hell not? Isn’t that their fucking job?”

“I can't tell you their reasoning. I can only surmise that those who were here couldn't move the body.”

Dean thought about it for a moment and placed a hand on his stomach. Sam frowned and grabbed a handgun and some bottles of holy water. He then tossed the same items over to Dean who caught them despite looking worse for wear. Castiel nodded at the Winchesters and started to walk towards the house.

It looked like any other house in the neighborhood. It had a nice lawn with shrubs and a large tree. There was a driveway that led to a garage and the house was two floors of old brick. The place had a nice rustic feel on the outside complete with wind chimes. The three of them passed under the police tape and walked around back. So far, no neighbors were stirring. There were no dogs or drunk college kids stumbling around either. Sam started on the lock on the backdoor.

“Nice place. Shame there’s blood and guts everywhere,” Dean commented with a solemn nod.

“Would you live in a place like this?” asked Cas.

“Fuck no. Fuck these drivers. Fuck these roads. And fuck-“

“I’m in,” Sam interjected. The doorknob made a small noise as Sam opened it with a gloved hand.

It was dark inside and they weren’t about to turn on any lights in the dead woman’s house. Dean activated his flashlight and Cas followed, staying vigilant. Sam followed after closing the door, staying quiet, and turning on his own flashlight.

Nisha’s home was well organized with simple furniture and colorful fabrics. There were cabinets with decorative china and books lining several shelves. There were handmade quilts decorating various chairs and the sofa in the living room. So far, they didn’t find any evidence of a break-in. Sam had to break in through the back with a pick. Dean flashed his light at the front door and didn’t notice any signs of damage. The door itself had some glass in it and on the walls to the left and right of it. None of it had any noticeable damage done. There wasn’t any glass littering any part of the ground floor either.

Dean looked back towards the other two and signaled to head upstairs. They nodded and one by one ascended the stairs towards the body of Ms. Hult. That was when they started to see the signs. A nightstand in the hallway with a lamp that had shattered behind it. A small clump of brown hair rested on the carpet leading towards the door that was ajar. It was then that a rancid odor filled the air and the Winchesters had to cover their faces. Dean pulling his shirt up and over his nose and Sam using his free hand.

“Someone forgot to light a match. Jesus Christ does it smell,” whispered Dean. Cas was the only one who didn’t seem to notice. Yet, he was staring at the door. His breathing became louder and his skin crawled.

“Cas? You alright?” Sam asked.

Cas didn’t answer at first, letting an uncomfortable silence over them. Without looking away, he spoke up, almost in a whisper, “I am... uneasy.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Dean. It was unusual for something like a dead body to give Castiel the jitters. Dean placed himself on high alert, drawing his gun. He was ready to cap whatever hypothetical sonuvabitch was behind that door. He brought the iron shells and Sam took the salt shells to maximum any weaknesses.

Castiel wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Most of the time he chose to stay as neutral as possible. This was new and he was sure that this couldn’t be right. He related this feeling only to when he was human for a time. It was an instinct, a primal one, which rooted itself deep in the minds of the living, human or animal.

Whatever was beyond that door became his boogeyman. A rationalization for the unknown. Without moving his head, his eyes darted down to his hands. They were shaking ever so slightly, a phenomenon that he had only felt trying to defend against the deadliest of enemies. How was this even possible? He had never felt such fear before. An Angel of the Lord has divine wrath and righteousness in their veins. His mind was trying to reject the notion. No. His soul was reacting. As if trying to shield itself from the creeping, looming tendril of terror beyond that door.

Sam placed a hand on the angel’s shoulder and gripped. Cas let out a quiet whimper in response but didn’t move.

“Cas? We’re here with you. We’ll be done in no time. Just... hang on,” he assured.

_What the fuck? That's a bad sign right there_ thought Dean. By glancing at Cas, he could feel the hairs on his arms and neck rise in anticipation. Instead of standing around, leaving Cas petrified, Dean turned towards the door. With a swift charge, he barreled through, slamming the door against the wall behind it. Sam saw the sudden movement and drew his gun, heading in with his brother.

He didn’t have to chase him very far.

The bedroom was well furnished as well with wood pieces. The bed had tall posts reaching and touching the ceiling with a dark sheen. The window was open, letting in a light, cool breeze causing the canopy bed’s fabric to dance in the room. There was a figure tied to the bed where the source of the smell was emanating from. The room was dark and Dean wouldn’t dare to turn on the light. Instead, the two brothers took one more look at each other before nodding and heading to one side of the bed. As they lifted their flashlights to get a better look, the wind picked up outside. The current passed through the room, lifting the veil out of their eyes to a despicable sight.

“… Dean? Uh… _Dean?!_” Sam uttered as he took a few steps back. Dean was silent as he processed what was in front of them. Nisha was still here. Sam was looking at one half of her and Dean was gaping at the other. Nisha had her arms and legs tied to their respective bed posts. No that wasn’t true. There was a spider’s web woven through her skin with a thread as red as her innards. She was sewn to her mattress and wrapped around the bedposts. After, she got herself bisected straight down the middle. Like the Vitruvian man sliced in half with scissors. Her blood pooled in the center of the bed, staining all the once white and pure fabric of her pillows and bed sheets. Her attackers piled her organs between the pieces of her like some kind of blasphemous art piece. A gaping maw made up of Nisha's teeth circled the pile of viscera. There was no humanity left in the attacker and they took away her dignity. Dean stifled a sickening heave in his body and Sam had to look away.

“What the fuck?!” he cried, his eyes watering from sight and stench.

“Check the room! This had to have been some kind of ritual. Witchcraft? Pagans? Demons?!” Dean exclaimed. He shouted in frustration as he started inspecting everything about the bed. Where were the symbols? Were they sigils? Runes? What were the attackers gaining from this? Dean was not thinking about why this kind of carnage happened. His mind was racing on what being was benefiting from it right now.

Sam snapped out of his stupor and immediately began searching the room, rubbing his eyes of the odor. They couldn’t touch anything since the police would have noticed any tampering. The last thing they needed was legal complications or jail time. The boys had to think with clarity despite the horror of Nisha’s corpse. They swept the room with light, trying to spot something that could be evidence.

“A… Are you alright?” asked Castiel. Before Dean could stop him, the angel’s footsteps already stopped at the door frame. It felt like time had frozen and Cas’ instincts were screaming to flee. The sweat trailing down Dean’s forehead. The expression twisting on Sam's face. The blood dripping from Ms. Hult’s torso. They had all frozen in place. Cas blinked several times, breathing with a looming panic on the horizon. Why weren’t any of them moving? What was happening?

“Dean? Sam?” he asked.

It was then that he heard it. A humming sound. It was a low rumble at first, emanating from somewhere in the room. Within moments, his breathing was overtaken by the sound. Then compulsion overwhelmed his disconcerted fear. He hadn’t seen the body yet. What was he waiting for?

He needed to see her.

She was right there.

He could see the red stains on the white sheets. The sheets were messy and soiled. The sheets were messy and soiled. He crept closer and closer but his movements were sluggish, like walking underwater. As he rounded the bedpost, sweat was forming all over his forehead and neck. It felt cold from the outside air, crawling over his skin.

He heard the whimpering. The sound trying to escape her lips as if she were still clinging onto life in desperation. Her corpse displayed the split through her head and down past her genitals. There was an uncanny feeling of expertise from that. They splayed Nisha out for all to see. Muscle. Bone. Blood. Viscera. She was on display as appreciation for their honored guests.

“Who’s there?” he asked. It came out shaken, so soft that he almost didn’t hear his own voice. The disembodied voice was whispering too but somehow Cas knew it was Nisha. Her eyes clung to both Dean and Sam, splitting her vision to two different people if she were alive. Her mouth hung wide open, her jaw torn asunder from senseless violence.

“... You,” it whispered.

“... What?”

Nisha’s eyes twitched, a disgusting fleshy squeeze in her eye sockets. They rolled towards Cas with paralyzing intensity, locking with his. The angel took a step back as his voice caught in his throat. It was then that Cas felt lightheaded, a weightlessness in his body. As if his spirit had left his vessel then. He kept floating up like a balloon slipping through a child's fingers. He saw Jimmy’s body down below him, looking at the corpse. Jimmy looked up at him with panic in his eyes, begging him for help with an agonized expression. The angel tried to reach back for him but couldn’t. His soul was being dragged away. Jimmy walked forward to Nisha’s body and hovered a shaking hand over one of her wrists. Castiel could feel himself mouthing protests, screaming at the top of his lungs. There was no sound, only that terrible humming. Jimmy grasped her wrist and it happened almost immediately. The threads sprung out of Nisha, enveloping Jimmy’s arm and piercing through. They bobbed and weaved without mercy through his body, entangling him in a cocoon. Cas could feel the agony, deep and relentless, swirling around him. His ethereal body felt hot, red and orange light enveloping him. He kept slipping away from the world up into the darkness as he body burned. All he could see was the infinite darkness consuming him. He was burning away now.

And he was but a speck to the emptiness.

* * *

“Cas! Snap out of it! Sam what the fuck is happening?!” Dean yelled. He was holding onto Cas’s arms, trying to stop him from convulsing. He knew that the angel was impervious to non-magical harm but seeing Cas like this was terrifying. Sam was at a total loss for words as he pulled on his own hair with both hands.

“I-I don’t know! H-He walked in and… and…”

“Help me get him out of here!” Dean cried. Sam rushed over and the two men tried to move the angel away from the crime scene. But Cas was unmoving, steadfast in his resistance. He was beginning to foam at the mouth and his eyes were looking in every direction and no direction.

Dean held a hand up to Cas’ cheek to try to hold him in place. “Cas! Can you hear me?! It’s me! Don’t make me start punching you!” he cried. He didn’t want to have to resort to punching an angel; that didn’t work the first time he tried. Sam let go of Cas, almost getting slammed in the face by the latter's violent shaking. It was then that he heard the clinking of glass on his person.

“Dean! Hold him still!” Sam yelled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two vials of holy water. It was a moot point to try to hold their friends still. But Dean understood what Sam meant and why he had two. The first vial spilled over Cas’ head, splashing him with the essence of the divine. As it touched his skin, Cas blinked hard and stopped for one moment.

“Hold him!” Sam screamed. Dean violently grabbed onto Cas’ head and forced him to look up, mouth agape. Sam poured his second vial directly into the angel's mouth, causing him to swallow the liquid almost instantly.

Castiel threw his hands over his mouth and almost fell backwards on his ass. Sam and Dean stood in front of Cas, readying more holy water if they needed it. It looked like their friend was trying to vomit which wasn’t a good sign. Demons burned from the drops touching their skin. Dean couldn’t care less what was happening as long as Cas would survive the night. He dropped to his ailing friend and holding onto his shoulders.

“Cas. You can do it. Get that shit out of there. You’re too strong for this shit, man. C’mon,” said Dean. Sam knelt down as well and watched, curious and concerned all at once. This was unlike anything they had ever encountered before. It took so much to hurt Cast but the sight of the body was enough to trigger a violent reaction of some kind. The three of them were brushing the surface and Sam knew it. He could feel it in his bones.

“Cas!” Dean yelled.

It was then that blood started pouring from Cas’ hands. His eyes clenched tight as he coughed something out of his mouth. It was something shining against the light that Sam held. On the carpet was a single sewing needle, the blood immediately draining from it. A small circle of red pooled beneath it, leaving it spotless. The two brothers stared at the object for a moment before returning their attention to Cas. He was struggling to speak, blood dripping from his mouth at every haggard breath.

“D-D… Dean…” he uttered, clutching onto Dean’s arm. He gripped so tight that Dean could do nothing but look at Cas’ pained expression. The angel was breathing now. It didn’t sound good but it was always, always better than the alternative. Sam used his gloved hand to pick up the needle and wrapped it up in the rubber material. Whatever this was could incapacitate an angel and not any old angel. This was Cas they were talking about. He'd killed some of the most powerful adversaries they've seen. He'd held onto enough souls to believe that he had become God.

“Cas… What the hell happened to you? We thought you were being possessed or something,” asked Sam. “What do you remember?”

“Need… Need to… Need to leave…”

“Yeah. Dean let’s get out of here. We can’t stay. Not like this,” said Sam. Dean nodded and helped Cas stand up straight.

“I’ll get the car started. Get him downstairs now!”

Sam propped Cas’ arm over his neck and looked at him. Cas returned his gaze and nodded. It was basically only Sam who was supporting the two of them but he was large enough to handle the extra weight. Dean took his keys out and sped down the stairs.

_What the fucking shit?! This is bad. This beyond bad. Fuck!_ he thought.

He didn’t care to be quiet in the house. His footsteps echoed back up to the second floor. As he approached the back door leading to their point of entry, Dean froze. His flashlight was revealing the grass out in the backyard. The door was wide open and horrid chill crept down his spine. He immediately held a defensive stance with his gun and flashlight. There was no telling where the fucker who did this could be hiding. They always return to the scene of the crime, according to the movies. He heard Sam and Cas’ footsteps as they made their way down.

“Sam! Cas! We’ve got company!” he yelled. At this point, stealth didn’t matter. Someone was here and they knew that the lot of them were intruding. Turning at every way into the kitchen, Dean was becoming more and more paranoid as time passed. What was taking them so long? Without another thought, he turned around and ran back to the stairs. He had to resist screaming at the two of them to hurry up.

“Dean!” Sam cried. His brother turned around with his gun aimed on pure instinct. In the split second that he turned, he saw it. A tall hooded figure rose before him from the darkness, it's face completely concealed. It was too tall for a human being and seemed to be touching the ceiling and floating above the ground. Dean's heart skipped a beat as he pulled the trigger. The bullet flew right through the entity and right into the wall behind it. Dean's breathing increased in frequency as he prepared to pull the trigger again. But, Cas stopped him.

"Get away! Get away from it! I can't see it!" he begged. "I can't see it!"

Sam took this as a bad sign and immediately hurled his remaining holy water at the creature. With a distraction, Dean managed to double back and sweep Cas off of his feet. He was running on pure adrenaline now and it didn't matter how heavy his angel was. They were getting out. Now. The creature seemed to note the vial of water and floated to its left, allowing the bottle to smash on the ground. It showed signs of intelligence, veering away from the liquid. Sam noted that as he attempted to fire his own bullets, testing out the rock salt. Dean crashed through the doorway and ran before turning around.

"Sam! Get the fuck out of there!" he yelled. Shattering glass muffled his words and a gasp shuddered from his throat. Sam crashed through the kitchen window and onto the concrete of the back yard patio. Groans of pain escaped him and blood seeped out of his cuts. Dean let Cas stand on his own and rushed over to his brother. The robed entity made itself known now, hovering out of the doorway. He could have sworn that he saw what looked like toes peeking out beneath it. Before he could reach Sam in time, a sharp sound caught his attention. A strange, curved sword had materialized at the creature's side. A harsh, ringing sound rang out as if the creature had unsheathed it. Cas was standing a few feet away from it, holding onto one arm with the other, blood drying against his chin and neck. His eyes focused onto the blade that dangled in the air before him. The creature raised a pale, emaciated hand at Dean. A single sharp fingernail confirmed the target.

There was no time to think. No time to figure out the best course of action. The moment was over as soon as it began. Sam looked up to see it happen, a scream forming on his lips as he realized what was happening. A sickening sound rang out in the neighborhood. Bone broken. Flesh ripped. The green grass beneath painted in a dark liquid. Cas was no longer covered in his own blood.

"Dean...?" he whispered.

Dean fell to his knees, hands unsure of what to do. The sword pierced right through his chest, horror and agony overtaking his face. He looked down at his chest, lingering on the sword. Then his eyes rose to the creature in its terrifying majesty. With a harsh twist, it jerked its closed hand back toward itself, causing the blade to tear itself out. Dean's blood splattered its robes with a dark crimson. It said nothing. It made no noise as the sword disappeared back underneath its billowing form. Dean couldn't even cry out, the sheer horror silencing his throat and pain dominating his mind. The entity turned around and went back to Nisha's home, the door closing behind it. Sam scrambled to his feet and charged towards his brother. Cas clawed at Dean's shirt, trying to assess his wound. The world was falling apart in Dean's eyes. The night was enveloping everything around him. His eyes were faltering. His breathing became a sickening choking. Pain was shifting to a paralyzing numbness. Someone was saying his name but he couldn't tell where it was coming from. He felt gravity pressing down on him, his eyes closing as his strength faded away. Soon, all he could hear was a deep humming sound.

And it overtook him.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	2. Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets a visit from Billie. Cas loses control of his emotions when he senses Dean's soul nearby.

* * *

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

They were going to dive into the haunted house with or without a concrete plan. The spooky bad guy would get a few hits in here and there but the three of them would come out on top. Sprinkle some salt here, bullets would go flying, and someone would be dead in a ditch. Instead, Cas held Dean, his breathing ragged and his eyes searching for something. Anything. Sam dragged himself across the grass, body aching and battered. Drops of blood were staining his jeans from the shards of glass but the pain was nothing. One moment was all it took to break them.

Dean was completely still, his head supported by Cas’ hand. The angel didn’t respond, hypnotized by Dean's pale face. People often said that the dead looked like they were sleeping. Some said that the dead just looked... dead. Dean died knowing the danger Sam and Cas were in, that he didn't do enough to protect them. He wasn't strong enough to keep them safe and he died with an expression wracked with regrets. He looked frightened. Sam gritted his teeth and sat upright in front of his brother. No doubt the police would soon pour into the neighborhood. Someone had to have heard. They knew that there would be no time to grieve but this was Dean.

“Sam. We need to leave.”

“Yeah…”

With that, Cas carried Dean, feeling his strength returning. He glanced back at the house, scanning left and right, before chasing after Sam. The Impala roared as its engine ignited, bellowing into the night. The door was already open for Cas as he arrived. He but positioned Dean’s legs through with haste, sitting down and allowing Dean’s upper body to rest on his lap. He knew how angry Dean would be if he knew that the two of them had allowed blood to stain his baby. Once the door closed and they were all locked in, Sam got the three of them the hell out of there.

There were no words that either Sam or Cas could muster. Sam kept glancing toward the rear view mirror at his brother’s lifeless body. His muscles twisted at every bump in the road that rocked the Impala's tires. They couldn’t go back to the hotel bruised and battered. Where could they hide? A hospital? A church? None of their options were safe. Sam shook his head and kept focusing on the road, almost running through a red light. Once they reached the parking garage, Sam turned to Cas, his expression lost in anguish.

“I’ll park the car. Can you lay low until I get back? It’ll only be a minute,” he uttered. His voice was faltering, catching in his throat. Without looking, Cas nodded. Sam got out of the vehicle, walking around and letting the angel out. He had to look away, seeing Cas’ clothes stained a deep red. Without another thought, Sam got back in the car and drove up to grab his ticket. Cas glanced around, seeing an alleyway, a makeshift sanctuary under the veil of night. It was late but the city wasn’t asleep by any means. Anyone could be watching and the two of them couldn't take any other chances tonight. Cas set Dean down on the ground with great care, supporting the latter's upper body against the brick wall.

“Dean…” he whispered. With Sam separated from them, Cas brushed the back of his hand against Dean’s cheek. Sam didn’t need to ask for him to help his Dean. He had already tried the moment his hands were on the older Winchester. He was a Seraph, a title that God deemed him worthy of. A single touch infused with empathy and kindness could restore all but the worst of injuries. But to heal a body, there still had to be a soul somewhere within. He needed something to connect with, something to channel his grace into. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell Sam at the time. He already knew it was too late and he cursed himself, begging for someone to punish him for his failings. He brought his face down closer to Dean’s, letting their foreheads touch. He shut his eyes upon realizing how cold Dean was.

“Where did you go…? Why can’t I see you?” he asked. Shaken to his very core, Cas frowned, wanting to wake up now. Could it all be a dream? A terrible nightmare. It was the same sensation as the encounter at the house in Oakland. The entity was empty, devoid of any trace of God or corruption of the Devil. Even monsters had souls that journeyed to Purgatory once death was upon them. All he could see was a deep blackness, twisting and writhing underneath those robes. It felt so hateful and angry, like something bore its way into existence. It was without the touch of a benevolent creator. Was this the work of Heaven and its angels? Have the demons of Hell unearthed something monstrous in the depths? Even the Empty, a vast plane of nothingness, had no creature like it. The Shadow, the god of that plane, had purpose, terrifying but necessary. In that moment, Cas found himself without the warmth of Dean’s soul nearby. He held Dean tight, hoping for a sign.

Something.

_Anything._

* * *

Sam gripped the steering wheel tight, agitating the cuts on his knuckles. He was completely beside himself. What could hurt more? He was trying to breathe but they came out more like sobs. His lungs felt like they had shriveled and he was suffocating. A million thoughts were racing through his mind, fighting his rationality in a mental war. His emotions were welling up, threatening to drown him in a sea of confusion and anger. What had gone wrong? Why did they come here to Pittsburgh? What did they get themselves into?

“Shit!” he hissed. He threw himself from the steering wheel, leaning back against the seat. He had to be rational somehow. Despite all that had happened, Sam had to be headstrong like his brother. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. What did he know? He knew that Cas had the power to help Dean. He also knew that Cas would have already tried. The angel didn't need any kind of permission to do something like that. The three of them have been together for years now.

It had to have been that creature. That _thing_. It was responsible for this. Was it the culprit for the other murders? Why didn't the rock salt or iron work? Where did it come from?

Sam left the car in a huff, almost slamming the door. He needed air. He couldn't keep breathing in the same space where Dean's body was laying. He started to walk away, hands in his pockets and curses in the air.

He realized too late that there were two shadows looming away from the Impala. He turned around expecting the worst and came face to face with a large curved blade and the strum of a sultry voice.

“Sam Winchester. Don’t you know how rude it is to slam the door on a lady?”

His expression darkened and he balled his hands into fists. The dark-skinned woman looked amused, crossing her legs as she sat on the roof of the Impala. Her scythe threatened him, gleaming in the light. Her eyes locked on Sam’s as she pushed herself off the car, her boots clacking on the ground. Her black clothing gave it away to those who had brushed with death, denoting her status and title. She wasn’t here for any kind of pleasantry.

“Are you here for Dean?” Sam asked. There was a certain fire in his voice that made Billie smirk. There was never a dull moment with the boys. She shook her head, letting her hair flow.

“I’ve told you before that I have no intention of exacting revenge. In fact, I have something even worse for you in mind.”

“Something worse?” he retorted with trembling hands. Billie set her scythe back at her side, exhaling. There was a somberness to it, a fatigue tinting her eyes. She had encounters with the Winchesters, especially with Dean. But Death wouldn’t show up to have a nice cup of tea or gossip about the latest.

“Dean is dead. I trust you know what that means?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Sam turned around, raising his arms in a mocking fashion.

“Yeah. We play this game all the time. I thought you’d be all set to go reaping my brother.”

“If I wanted him now, it would be the most natural thing in the world. I don’t spend all my time watching and waiting for you to make mistakes. Accidents happen. Hunters die. But this was no accident and I think you’ve already caught on. I’m not here to collect anything.”

Sam turned back to face Billie, the shadows crawling along his skin. His eyes relaxed and he realized how exhausted he was. His mind wracked with guilt over convincing his brother to venture out here. Mixed with Dean’s demise, Sam created festering stew of self-loathing and doubt. He couldn’t let Cas see him lose his temperament in the face of grief. With Death admitting that she was not here on a routine check-up eased his mind for a moment.

“Why are you here? Are you asking something of us?”

Billie’s smirk disappeared into neutrality. She paused before speaking, trying to hide her frustration with a stony expression.

“I am. Some recent events have… piqued my interest. When inexplicable occurs, they call the infamous Winchester brothers. Aren't I lucky?” she asked. She enunciated her words with a quiet fervor like a storm on the horizon, looming over the city.

“My reapers... they talk of the dying with nothing to reap. They have no package to carry up, down, or any which way. No souls, Sam. These people, or what remained of them, had no souls to carry. No essence of their being. I know my way around meddling outsiders. Oh, yes. I'm well acquainted with the dark arts that use souls for personal gain. We are no strangers to thieves.”

“Is that what happened to Dean?” asked Sam. His voice was almost a whimper, his mind wandering to a worst case scenario. Billie shook her head.

“No. I have no use for Dean’s soul but the world does. Plans within plans, Sam. You couldn’t see the endless tapestry your lives travel down, etched with care. The Winchesters and the Angel of Thursday whom go down the same long, winding path. How do I know this? A hunch, I suppose.”

“Do you know where his soul is? I know he’s… he’s dead now but… there have always been ways of getting him back.”

When Sam mentioned this, Billie frowned and glared at him.

“I am _well_ aware. I didn’t think you were so bold to bring up the disrespect you two have for me and the laws of nature. Let me guess. You want to ask me how to bring Dean back to life?”

“He’s my brother. Of course I’m going to ask but something isn’t right. Something is off about all this. It’s on the tip of my tongue, I know it is, but I can’t do this without him. I need him. I need him and Castiel. You said so yourself. We travel down that road together.”

“Ah... Your love for your brother has taken you to dark places. That’s what I was counting on. You can never say no when it involves him,” she began. Billie took a few steps toward Sam, never breaking eye contact with him.

“Something is disrupting us. The reapers. The cycle of life. It's been few in number but I can’t ignore something so… heinous. I know you saw that poor Nisha woman in her home. I know you saw what was lurking in the shadows. A reaper was there to witness and acknowledge her death well before you arrived. He was… unnerved. No that’s not right. Something violated him. Whatever he saw mangled him, tortured him beyond repair. I haven't seen one of my own people teeter so far over the edge. I had to put down one of my own tonight.”

Sam froze. If this phenomenon could affect a reaper then that explained why Cas wasn't immune either. The convulsions, the shivering of his eyes, and the weakness he experienced weren’t a fluke. Angels and demons were one thing. But reapers were in another league of their own. Their powers bound by their servitude to Death and neutrality. Most of them at least.

“What did he see?”

“That I cannot say. Yet, that is for you to find out. You know how this works. I am Death. I come for those who are ready. I will not raise my hand and pick a side. I find the balance and maintain it for all beings, living and dead. In this case... I have no choice.”

“It’s that bad that you have to intervene? Jesus…”

"Don’t think that I’ll be helping you. Busy schedule and whatnot. I have a… protégé, you might say. A correspondent who will be overseeing things.”

“Who is it? A reaper?” he asked. Billie shook her head, a sly smile forming on her lips. She turned around and started to walk away towards the Impala, leaning her back and elbows against it.

“Why don’t you go find out? Don’t keep the angel waiting.”

A light fixture above blinked and in that moment Billie had vanished, leaving Sam to stew on her words. There was a force out there that was stirring, disturbing the natural world and its laws. When Death approaches you and requests your help, you don’t have the option to say no. Primordial beings had a knack for making headaches worse.

Sam hurried down the staircase leading back towards the quiet streets below.

* * *

The sky was heavy now and droplets were leaving their heavenly hosts. The weather app didn’t predict that. Pittsburgh was always pissing off the weather. That’s right. They didn't revere their groundhog enough this year. Wasn't that right? Cas felt the rain tickle his skin, the dried blood on his hands washing away onto the ground. He looked up at the darkened clouds, no expressions strong enough to show. He felt empty now. His journey to learn about emotions and their sway on the human mind was without end. This emptiness was not from a lack of understanding or experience. But rather from the realization of total helplessness. He pulled Dean from the maw of Hell. He ripped and tore his way through Purgatory. He watched his brothers and sisters die over and over again. If the rain became any heavier, he could let himself get swept away by the currents, no matter how small. He wanted it to end.

Sam arrived and approached Cas, his hair catching the drizzling mist.

“Hey…” he said, looking down at the two of them.

“We gotta… We gotta get him up, Cas.”

“I know. Where… Where will we go?”

Sam knelt down, placing a hand on the angel's shoulder. Cas looked up at the younger brother, seeing the faintest glimmer of light somewhere in his eyes. That's what he wanted. Some kind of light out here in the sheer apathy of the world. Sam came upon some kind of revelation. He was observant, always watching from a distance to study and plan around the situation. Some color returned to Cas' gaze.

“I don’t know but there’s something going on Cas. Billie showed up when I parked the car.”

“The avatar of Death?”

“Yeah. Believe me when I say that there was nothing good about it...”

As Sam struggled the find the right words to say, he took another look at Cas and stopped, worried. The angel’s eyes were wide now, a thin line forming on his mouth. He had turned his head and was looking off opposite to their position. Sam swore he could see the shadow of his feathers resting against the brick walls around them.

“Cas? What’s wrong?” he asked. When the silence proved too much, Sam asked again. “Cas. You’re freaking me out. We have to get out of here before someone sees us kneeling over Dean’s body. What are you-“

“It’s Dean. I can feel him.”

Sam's immediately froze in place. Oh shit. There was no way that was possible. Billie made sure to shoot down any attempts at a possible resurrection. Worse yet, she proposed the idea that Dean's soul disappeared to some dark place. Could Cas be mistaken? No. This is Castiel. He wouldn't mistake Dean for anyone else but he had to be sure. He positioned his arms in a way that would let him pick Dean up in an instant if they needed to run.

“What do you mean?! I thought his soul was… Your powers didn’t work on him back when…”

It was then that Sam realized that they weren’t alone. There was a small noise in the air, the flapping of fabric. He turned to gaze across the street and saw it. A figure stood on the sidewalk across from them, shrouded in dark robes that swallowed the rain. A face was shimmering in the glow from a nearby street light. It was an ornate masquerade mask, pale like polished bone. The eye sockets were empty and listless, hypnotic and terrifying. Yet, the well-crafted lips and nose that made it feel even more alien. The figure was holding something in front of them. A necklace dangled from their slender fingers, shining brighter than the finest diamond. It was then that Cas stood up and his eyes shone bright with righteous fury.

“Dean!” he cried.

"Cas, wait!"

But it was too late. Castiel was already charging at the figure with murderous intent. He could feel Dean again. He felt like a ship lost at sea, so close to land, but the promise of home flared out at him, held by the grip of uncertainty. He felt that aberration again. That sinking feeling of emptiness from the mysterious stranger. He wasn't going to let these creatures toy with Dean's soul. The figure hid necklace, allowing Cas to grab him by the neck, the two disappearing into the distance. Sam propped Dean up onto his back and tried to follow. But his brother was heavy and they almost stumbled back onto the slippery ground. All Sam could do was pray that Cas would still be there when they arrived.

Their eyes locked. Their feet never touched the ground. Castiel's soul was radiating a halo of divine light as he gripped harder and harder. The stranger had no reaction, funneling them away from the Winchesters. A strange force was lifting them into the air, keeping their momentum from slowing down. They crashed through a light post, ripping it in half with a harsh, grinding sound. Before long, Cas saw the river in the corner of his eye and he knew they were by the fountain. Sam was talking about it back in the Impala on the drive to Pittsburgh. Point State Park and was famous for the structure built at one point of the city. There was no water running, the cold temperature calling for less activity. They both stopped right in the center of its circular design. The being had its hand gripped on Castiel's shoulder and there was a hint of warmth. This shocked him, causing him to leap backwards, creating more distance. They circled each other, studying one another, the rain beginning to pour around them. The fire in Cas' eyes never stopped growing.

"Who are you? Why couldn't I deliver judgment upon you?" he roared. The being's eyes shown now, illuminated by Castiel's radiance. They were a dark brown. It couldn't have been any demon. He sensed no touch of Hell, no corruption of the mind or body. Many demons stood no chance against a seraph. Was this creature from the darkness? Could they claim human vessels as well? The figure was silent, the billowing of his robes dancing with the angel's coat, a waltz of predators.

"Return the soul of Dean Winchester before I rip it from you hands," he growled.

The stranger stopped walking and raised the piece of jewelry up to its mask. Castiel saw the light again, a well of longing filling his chest to the brim. His cup could overflow being near that man's essence. It was intoxicating and terrifying.

"What would you do to reclaim this soul?" it asked. The voice sounded young. There was no hint of malice, no sting of malediction on his tongue. His words, regal and cold, drowned out the rain. "Will you brave the dark, angel? Will you see what lies beyond the horizon? That is where I will take him. Fate has tried to take control of this soul. Grasped at it. Clawed at it. Only for him to slide through their fingers like smoke. But the darkness won't need to catch him. It will swallow everything around him. Will you be brave? Will you peer beyond the veil of the world? That is what I ask of you."

Castiel's light was fading, his fury cooling, staying his hand. The blade was already slipping out of his sleeve before he willed it away. His expression stayed intense, shifting between the mask and the glow of Dean's soul.

"Why couldn't I kill you?" he asked, raising a hand towards the stranger. "Why did my light falter upon your form? What are you?"

"Answer me, angel of the Lord. Will you take up the sword to reclaim the kingdom? Will you stand tall before the Goliath? Don't keep me waiting."

The stranger gripped his hand around the amulet, smothering Dean's light away. Castiel instinctively reached out for it, stumbling forward, and gasping for air. The angel fell to his knees, staring at the figure's closed hand. Water drenched his ailing expression, his body and mind torn, conflicted. In this moment, he was helpless again. He was so close to getting Dean back. He was right there. But it was never going to be that simple. There was always a price to pay. Power always took back in equal force. For wealth. For love. And he was willing to make a deal with this creature. It was clever, dangling hope before him like scraps to a beggar. There was nothing else he could do.

"I... I will," he began. He was quiet at first but forced himself to speak up, shoulders slumping. "I will go with you. I will do as you ask. I would walk to the ends of the earth-I have defied both Heaven and Hell for him. I would give anything... Please..." he begged. This was what he couldn't understand. It was what he could not fathom in humans before meeting the Winchesters. The emotion was raw, desperate, clawing its way out of him. He had never felt such ardor, passion, and pain. He wanted it to go away. He wanted it to leave him. But he knew that it was too late. The feeling had its hook in his body and mind, chaining itself to his charge. The one person he thought deserved saving. He would never give Dean up for anything. The stranger saw the sincerity in his answer, a thin smile forming beneath the mask. Castiel looked defeated in the rain. The shadows of his ethereal wings illuminated by light against the ground. The stranger nodded, a polite tip of the head.

"Then it's done. You will be the second to be bound by my contract."

The angel blinked in confusion. He was to be the second? Who was the first? He couldn't mean-

"Cas!" shouted Sam. He made it to the circle before stumbling and crashing to the ground, Dean rolling away from him and onto his back. Cas immediately sprung up to Sam's side and helped him stand. Sam was heaving air, exhausted from ferrying his brother toward them. They looked at each other, Sam realizing that something halted the encounter. But he had no time for words when he saw the robed stranger walk up to Dean's corpse.

"No! Get the fuck away from him!" Sam yelled. Cas held him back with a sharp look in his eyes. They both had no choice but to watch what was unfolding before them. The stranger knelt down next to Dean's body, sitting on his knees. He rotated Dean's head so that it was facing up towards the night sky. The rain slithering down his skin, drenching his clothes. He then raised the amulet above the deceased and its light shone forth like a lantern. The amulet itself was spherical, gilded with gold and silver like a bird cage. Looking closer at the clasp, Sam and Cas saw that it wasn't a light emanating like a candle. There was a gemstone inside containing Dean's soul. They walked forward, stopping at Dean's body when they saw that the stranger would allow it. Castiel could feel wave after wave of warmth surging through his body.

"I can feel him Sam. He's there. He didn't leave us," he said, overwhelmed with relief. Sam looked at Cas but kept silent. The younger Winchester could feel something but it wasn't at all like Cas was describing. Sam didn't refute the idea that Dean was somehow locked away in that necklace. Yet there was something gnawing at him. The soul wasn't trying to return to the body. If it wanted to, it could break through and escape its prison. This was Dean they were talking about. He survived the torture of Hell for three decades. There was something more to this and Sam couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Are you... Are you the one Death told me about?" he asked. The stranger lifted his head up to look at Sam, eyes amused by his perception.

"That and more," he replied. When he spoke, lightning flashed in the distance.

"Rise, Winchester, for it is not your time. Heed my call. Heed my voice. From the gates that lay beyond the stars, I command you! Struggle and reclaim your soul once more! In the name of the Necromancer, I command you! _Rise_!"

* * *

There was nothing here. There was darkness. He knew he was alone and didn't need to use his eyes. He curled in on himself like a fetus in the womb. He dared not move. He was weightless. A floating body in the void. He felt nothing but cold against his skin. This was the end he always expected, the result of a lifetime of defiance against the forces of nature. He was a stain on the world, a festering wound that refused to heal. He had failed to protect Sammy. He failed to protect Cas. His family was gone now. They must have died too at the hands of that thing. He hated himself. He hated it all. He had only ever tasted a drop of happiness. It didn't do him any good. He tried to save the world. Tried to protect his brother from that world. When it all came crashing down, he was still standing. He was still tall. But now he was nothing. The nothing he always knew he'd be. And this would be his reward for his arrogance.

The sound was coming back again. The humming. The horrible groaning of this place. He gripped himself and braced himself for the deafening roar of the abyss. It came and went without a pattern, without a source, and it consumed his mind when it came from the depths. It was all around him and in him. It pierced his very being, shattered his bones and flayed his flesh. But he always came back together. He had to. The pieces would drift away but not for long. This was his punishment. An everlasting torment. Is this what Lucifer felt? Loneliness? Madness? It must have been. This was his very own cage.

What was that? Was something stirring in the void? Anything other than pain was terrifying. All he knew was pain in this place. What if there was more? Was something coming toward him? Did something sense his presence? The idea of something in here other than him crippled his mind. He tried to stay still but he could feel his breathing intensify. No. No. Stop. Don't let them hear you. Don't draw attention. Stay here and suffer alone. Don't let them find you.

"-an..."

There it was again. Was that... a word? A human sound? No. That wasn't possible. No one could save him from this place. It wasn't possible. He knew in his core that this plane was far beyond that of Heaven and Hell. He felt no light. No darkness. No life. Only pain. Who could breach this place? Why would they? Were they mad? Don't come in. Don't come in. Don't come in.

"De-!"

No. That couldn't be... Sam? Was that Sam? There was no mistaking it. There was nothing in this realm that could mimic the voice of Sammy. Where was it? Where did it come from? Was Sam here? No. There was no way he'd allow Sam to suffer here. Where was he? He forced open his eyes, dreading the illusion that would appear before him. The thing waiting for him to open himself and tear him limb from limb, scattering the pieces again. But there was nothing. He saw nothing. It was always blackness and empty and-

"Dean!"

There it was. A color not of this world. There were no words that could describe the euphoria that he was feeling. He could see something. Anything. A sliver of hope in the distance. He had to reach it. He had to. He was going to grab it and keep it safe. It was all he could call his in this vastness. He had to try. He could feel his arms and legs but he knew they were there. He had to crawl towards it. Pull himself to it. And it was agonizing. It felt as though everything was trying to stop him. The pressure was so dense that it could crush buildings- No. Worlds would shatter within its grasp. But he couldn't stop. He had to keep going. He had to keep struggling no matter what. There was life beyond this place and it was his. Sam was there. Cas was there. They were waiting for him he knew it. Everything would be back to normal again. They would be back in the Impala soon. They would get the hell out of Dodge and go somewhere together, the three of them. They would watch the sun embrace the earth and the stars shimmer in the faces of the moon. He wanted that. He wanted nothing more than his family. His home. He kept struggling.

"Rise!" a voice bellowed. It was then that he felt it. A surge of strength. He felt a fire deep within him and he kept fighting. This place couldn't hold him back. The light was getting brighter. He was getting closer. He could feel determination again. Frustration. Anger. Relief. He felt it all again when he broke through the surface, breaching it with purpose. His world unraveled around him and the blinding light embraced him.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	3. Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes up from a dark place. Sam and Cas discuss the matters at hand while the binding ritual commences.

* * *

It wasn't long before the pieces found their way home.

Something stirred within Dean's body, if only for a moment. A strange feeling swept over him, causing him to groan. He felt a soft surface cushioning his back and neck, coming to the realization that he was laying down. There was a sound that crept into his ears, liquid crashing down somewhere. Before long, he felt something warm and incredible on his face. It was like the first sip of hot chocolate after a day in the snow. Or a caress of sunlight peeking through the blinds at the break of dawn. He instinctively smiled, a gentle feeling of nostalgia bubbling in his being. It felt like ages since he felt warmth. No that wasn't right. He felt safe. He had almost given up on feeling anything but the coldness of that far off place, seeping deep into his bones and frosting his veins. His eyelids fluttered and a shadow began forming before him against the light. A shuddered breath escaped his lips when their eyes met. "Cas...?" he whispered.

"Dean..." Castiel's voice rose with relief, almost choking on something in his throat. Dean felt soft hands brush across his forehead, tender traces etched on his skin. But, his hands never rose from the bed despite his beckoning. Dean's eyes opened wide as he realized that he couldn't move an inch of his body. His eyes darted around and he let out small gasps.

"W-What... Why can't...?" he asked. A pleasant shushing sound came from the other side of the bed. Dean turned his attention to the source and fear wormed its way back, boring into his very being. The stranger sat in a chair next to him, mask still adorned, hands resting on his knees. He looked like the exact definition of the worst possible dinner guest possible.

Dean looked back at Cas, trying to twitch his fingers and toes as if trying to signal some kind of help. The angel looked confused at first then realizing how bizarre this all must have looked. He moved Dean's head to face his.

"Dean. Remain calm. We are safe here. We are in the hotel room. Sam is taking a shower," said Cas, tracing circles with his thumb on Dean's temple.

"Who... Who's...?"

"We'll explain everything later," the stranger interjected. "Once your brother is out of the bathroom, we'll get started."

As if on cue, the sound of running water halted with the squeak of metal. Sam emerged from the bathroom, clad in a plain shirt, comfortable shorts, and a towel around his head. At the sight of Dean's eyes, open and alive, he immediately dashed over, leaning over the bed.

"Dean! You're awake!" he yelped with relief. Dean couldn't move his head but did his best to look over at Sam.

"Sammy? What's..." Dean whispered. He felt like he was choking on his own words.

"Hey... We'll catch up soon. We gotta move you, okay? We have someone who's going to help you," he replied.

With nods of agreement, the three of them stood up in unison. Sam took Dean by the legs and Cas hooked his arms underneath Dean's. Between the two of them, they lifted him off the bed with ease, shuffling towards the bathroom. Dean could hardly protest anything before they moved past the door. Steam was lingering in the air, embracing the three of them with a light mist. They placed Dean in the tub, feet towards the faucet. He was trying to get out verbal protests but could only succeed with muffled garbling. His lungs didn't seem to have the capacity for yelling and screaming. It was then that he realized that his legs were bare, the color of his underwear blurry at the edge of his vision. The door closed and all he could see was the dark fabric of the strangers robes, his mask glittering in the light. What did Sam say? This creep was gonna help them somehow? What the fuck were they thinking? Now was the time to panic on all fronts.

"Calm down, Winchester. This isn't my idea of first date either," said the stranger. "It'll be easier if you shut up and listen. Can you manage that or should your brother be in here for moral support?"

A spark of anger was rising in Dean, igniting further as the stranger turned on the faucet to the tub. A plug clogged the drain, allowing the water to start building up. He couldn't help but feel amazed as the warm water tickled his heels. It was hard to feel much of anything with such an intense reaction to... well... anything. He looked back at the stranger, watching him remove his cumbersome outer layer. It was then hung up on a nearby hook with care. At a glance, the man seemed young, body obscured by another set of smaller robes. How was he not sweating in here? He reached up to his mask and sighed.

"I'll take off the mask if it helps. Will you relax then?" he asked. He raised it over his head, revealing a young face with tired eyes and wild hair as black as night. For some reason, it didn't help. At all. Friendly faces were on that. A friendly face. Trust was a different animal with a volatile lifespan.

"Who...? fuck," Dean muttered. The stranger rolled his eyes and set his mask up on another hook. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glass vial. The water was reaching up Dean's waist now, enveloping him in a makeshift spa. It wasn't too hot but steam was starting to gather in the air again.

"I'll make this plain and simple, okay? You can't move right now because you're still a 'corpse' in technical terms. You died, Death sent me over, your angel and I danced around a little, and I raised you from the dead. Tell me if I'm going too fast. No? Good. Now that I have you in the tub, I'm going to pour this in and try to get it through your thick, dead skin. Then you'll be able to move your limbs again. I'll leave your talking muscles for last."

With a little pop, the vial open and its contents coalesced with the water around Dean and onto his head. His nostrils were immediately hit with a pungent aroma, both sharp and familiar. It was overwhelming, causing Dean to wince. The muscles in his neck tingled as the stranger knelt down over the tub. He dipped his hands into the hot water, swirling the mixture around. He then began to apply pressure to the back of Dean’s neck with both hands. Dean closed his eyes and tried to pretend that it was anyone else, with Sam being an obvious exception. There was no need for this to get any worse. But breathing became easier and deeper as the young man continued.

"Ah... Fuck. I'm gonna... kill you," he managed. The stranger smirked and continued the treatment. He worked his way down to the shoulders, applying pressure, dipping his hands back into the water.

"You can try, Winchester. Though I should tell you how terrible an idea that is. Your brother and Castiel have already made a deal with me."

Dean immediately turned his head at the man, brow raised and mouth agape. It was that word. A deal. The most dreaded thing a human being can agree to with supernatural beings. Deals were binding and often led to terrible results. Dean knew firsthand. But his little brother and Cas were in on it together which could only mean a double whammy. What the fuck were they thinking? He understood that they would do almost anything for each other but God damn it. This was already bad.

"They made a deal with you?!" he shouted. The stranger stopped for a moment, wondering if Dean was going to bite one of his fingers off. Instead, he continued by raising one of Dean's arms up.

"Yes. A deal. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to hold up my end of the bargain. The ginger extract should be helping with the stiffness and you'll be able to move again soon. You would have started going into rigor mortis in a couple of hours. There's a different reason for your predicament that I can't get into right now. Are you always this rowdy?" he asked. Dean felt his hands ball into fists but he managed to look back down at the water instead. The sensation of muscle contracting and relaxing was easing his mind.

"So I... croaked back there?" he asked.

"Yes. You were the unlucky one."

"Why did they need you to bring me back? Cas out of juice or something?"

"Castiel is a different story. Another time. I brought you back because my boss tells me you're pretty important. What she says goes."

"Who's your boss? Marilyn Manson? The Penguin? The hell is with your getup?" Dean said, snarling. The stranger didn't respond, only glaring at him. His eyes were such a dark shade of brown that they could have been mistaken for black, as if possessed by a demon.

"What do you want from me? I fucking died. I came back, I'm in a ginger tea bath and now you're telling me my little brother and Cas made a deal with a demon or some shit! So don't mind me if I'm trying to get all the facts down before I blow your fucking head off after all this!" he yelled.

The stranger slammed his hand on Dean's chest, causing a searing pain to erupt deep within him. Dean cried out in agony, causing his legs to twitch, splashing some water around. It felt like a deep bruise was being crushed with pressure, forcing him to grit his teeth to hold himself back. The stranger frowned, his eyes holding an intensity of severe offense. He moved his face closer to Dean's, feeling Dean writhe beneath his touch. His patience wore thin, bubbling at the erroneous statement.

"I am no demon. I am no angel. My mistress is Death yet I am no reaper. You _will_ hold your _tongue_!" the stranger roared. Dean, twitching and twisting around in the tub, grunted as the man removed his hand with a quick, sharp motion. Looking down, the elder Winchester figured out what was happening. There, right over his heart, was a ghastly wound running straight through to his back. He had almost forgotten about it during all this nonsense. The creature that stabbed him at the house had left an ugly reminder that scarred both his body and mind. He composed himself and seemed resigned after that.

"Are you going to shut up now?" the stranger asked once more. Dean exhaled through his nose with a huff and responded with silence. The stranger's tone was like that of a scolding parent and it pissed him off to no end. After a few moments of tension, the fauct turned off with a quick spin. The water had reached right below his ribs which seemed enough. "I'm not trying to hurt you here but you're struggling and it's only going to make the process more difficult. And tick me off. Try moving your toes. Your legs too. If you can, then don't get out of the tub. I need to make sure that your entire body is ready before I let you move on your own."

A twitch. Dean's big toes wiggled in the water. He could bend his ankles, knees buckling to the left and right. His right arm was being worked on but he could wriggle his fingers around as well. His breathing felt more regulated, almost like he could to it without willing himself to. That was progress, right? It was still pretty fucked up. "I'm not alive?" he asked.

"You are in a sense. Your consciousness is back in your body. You can speak, think, move, all that jazz. But you're not complete."

"Okay. Still vague. What are... you?" he asked with hesitation. He didn't want another shot to the chest but he had to know the situation. His extensive hunter knowledge listed many possible scenarios for this. Was he some kind of zombie? He wasn't mindless though. He still felt human emotions and didn't have an intense craving for brains. His body didn't looked too messed up. All his digits were present on his limbs. There was that one time with the evil Nazis that came to mind. Was it necromancy then? Some kind of forbidden black art that raised him from the dead? No that's not right. The allegorical escalator going up, down, or somewhere between always waited.

"I don't doubt that you have a pretty big database of the good, the bad, and the weird in your head but it's complicated. If I had to pick something then you would probably call me..."

* * *

"A necromancer," said Sam. "How could Billie be okay with something like this? I thought she was all about the balance of nature and stuff."

"You had mentioned she was experiencing strange phenomena that was out of her control. Stranger alliances have happened throughout history. You should know this all too well," Cas replied. Sam was at the desk again, laptop open. Castiel sat back on Dean's bed, his eyes scanning some kind of nature show. They had heard some painful noises coming from the bathroom and Sam almost jumped up. But the two of them received instructions to ignore whatever they heard.

"Yeah but necromancy isn't exactly the nicest sort of magic. You remember that girl who killed her boyfriend and sicced him on everyone who wanted to date her? That was pretty evil on all accounts."

"I agree. Desecrating corpses is an affront to nature and God."

"Then why did you agree to his terms?"

That question sent a streak of heat in Cas' face. There was no doubt in his mind that he would have killed the stranger in an instant. Yet he was unable to smite the mysterious stranger with his powers. It had its limits but only against the most powerful beings. That was the first of his many worries about putting his trust in the necromancer. There wasn't much time for research for other methods. Castiel found himself unable to think so close to Dean's unbound soul. That was the kind of power that Dean had over him. Emotions were still something he had to process and there was never a good time. Time was too important of a resource for him to waste. Between the three of them, they never had enough. It took Cas a few minutes to gather his thoughts.

"I... I felt as though I had no choice," he replied. His voice was small and sheepish. It wasn't a great answer but it was all he could muster.

Sam sighed and spun his chair towards the angel. "I'm not saying it was the wrong choice. I'm just saying we should... Well..."

"I was distraught, Sam."

"I know you were. So was I. God, nothing about last night went well. If only I hadn't pushed Dean to come here..."

"Stop," said Cas. He knew where this was going and decided to speak up. "Do not blame yourself. It comes with the profession. Hunters are always putting themselves at risk to save lives."

"Of course I know that but-"

"You did not know that something like this would happen. Dean would yell at you if you started to wallow."

"Dean's gonna tear us a new one. Well, more like kill us once he finds out how this all went down."

As Sam contemplated on how to prepare himself for Dean's eventual shit fest, he leaned back in the chair. He swiveled himself towards the TV.

Castiel had a knack for getting lost in the entertainment side of humanity. He also mistook many of their aspects and being generally confused. But these nature documentaries seemed to pacify him well enough. He has existed since creation and knew too much about the inner workings of the world. It seemed that the narrator was explaining the relationship between two sea creatures.

"These snapping shrimp are blind but make good use of their antennae to feel around," it began. "In exchange for shelter, the goby fish will warn the shrimp of potential predators. When panicked, the fish will wag their tails profusely, whipping up some small currents and vibrations in the water..."

The peaceful narration was almost hypnotic, like the gentle humming of angelic voices. Some humans had the ability to soothe the very soul with only their voices, a profound ability in Cas' eyes. The pleasant footage was nothing he didn't already know but that was what made it so soothing. In the face of the unknown, familiar settings and knowledge can ease the mind. It felt shameful to admit but he needed something like this to keep him anchored. Dean and Sam kept each other grounded whereas Castiel had his faith.

"You like these types of shows, huh?" Sam asked, closing his laptop.

Cas nodded once, keeping his eyes glued on the screen. "They are one of the more beneficial products mankind has created. I prefer them to the singing competitions and news about your celebrities. Have you watched informative programs before?"

"I have but I also like to relax. Sometimes a bad show or something can take the edge off. Make things less serious, you know?"

"I suppose so. I still have yet to configure your Netflix to provide proper recommendations."

"Yeah... Dean isn't gonna let you log back into his profile ever again. He almost popped a blood vessel when his most recent got pushed out by all yours."

"I-I was only trying to help. I thought he would enjoy learning to make his own pies."

"Dean's not a British baking show kind of guy," said Sam, laughing to himself. Cas crossed his arms in a huff, which only made it worse. The mood seemed to lighten with their conversation on Dean's television habits. It was nice to think about something else for a change. Sam found himself smiling and shaking his head. Despite the time they've spent together, Castiel still had a lifetime of learning ahead of him. Those times were hilarious but not always good. He would often need someone to watch him or bail him out of a bad situation.

"I hope they're doing okay. It's been a while," he inquired. "What do you think he's doing?"

Castiel turned to the direction of the bathroom, crinkling his nose.

"I smell the aroma of ginger."

"What?”

"Ginger. A root often used in cooking to enhance flavors and add a sharp spice or to-"

"I know what ginger is, Cas. Is... Is there ginger in the bathroom? I don't remember smelling anything like that in there."

"It is particularly strong. The necromancer may have had it on his person."

"That's pretty weird. Should we check on them?" he asked. Castiel shook his head.

"We received instructions to stay put and to not interrupt or contaminate the process."

Before Sam could ask any more questions, painful shouts caused both of them to jump. The mood shifted almost immediately and Cas had to stop himself from getting up. Sam was on his feet but stopped when he noticed the angel hesitated. It was difficult to hear but they had little choice in the matter. The only person who could keep Dean alive and well was alone with him, shouting bloody murder.

* * *

"_Fuck_!" Dean cried. There was a thin, curved needle that threaded through his flesh. The suturing process was going to be excruciating. And knowing that it wasn't close to over was agonizing. He'd dealt with worse but that didn't make it any easier. The wound needed patching up and a hospital visit was out of the question. The stranger was nervous, his eyes were wide and his mouth lowered into a frown. He held the needle with precision but his hand was twitching. His breaths escaped his lips with a shudder.

"I-I'm sorry. This is all part of the process. Stay still if you can-"

"Fucking get on with it!"

The stranger paused, looking into Dean's twisted, pained expression. His robes were wet, splashed by Dean's sickening convulsions. As he raised the needle to the gaping wound once more, his hand began to shake. His eyes narrowed with trepidation. He took deep breaths as he held onto Dean's chest with his left hand as if bracing himself. With another swift motion, the needle pierced through more of Dean's skin. The second time was even worse as Dean's horrific cries blended with the necromancer's. The stranger turned away from Dean, pulling the thread through.

"Why the hell are you crying?! I'm the one who-!" he shouted. He stopped dead in his tracks by the horrifying sight. Pain inundated with confusion by what he was seeing. The stranger bit down on his lips as the needle's bloody thread was trailing from Dean's chest. And into his own left hand, the material sticking out of the back of his palm. He was gripping Dean's chest now, his fingernails digging.

They were being _sewn_ together.

Dean reached up with his right hand and grabbed onto the young man's wrist, gripping it in a desperate vice.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

"I-I... Shit! This is so much worse than I... I..."

"Tell me what the fuck you're doing before I break your goddamn arm off!"

"T-This is how I'm going to keep you alive! You and I... I have to create the bond. It's the only way to keep you from... Shit! You have to let me do this, okay?! I have to!" he shouted. Before Dean could protest further, he released his grip, strength failing. Throbbing pain spiraled up and down his torso. The needle kept threading, kept staining its thread with more and more blood. Him. Dean. Him. Dean. Over and over. The necromancer's eyes were wild, tracing every movement his right hand was making. Tears were streaming down his face as he forced the sharp instrument to pierce through flesh. Dean clasped his free hand over his own mouth, trying to fight through the ordeal with willpower. The water in the tub was a deep crimson, drenched in both of their blood. The young man dropped his head to the side of the tub, his free hand dropping the needle into the tub, sobbing. Dean could hardly breathe from the gruesome sight that lay beneath his chin. The threads were woven without a pattern, dangling between their bloodstained skins. The young man reached down into his robes and a soft metal sound caught Dean's attention. As he blinked the water from his eyes, he felt something cool drape over his neck.

"What now?!" he croaked.

"I need to... I need... Oh God... I need-We need to be... Winchester, I need you to accept my terms. You'll stay anchored to me but you need to listen. Please..."

"This is some pagan shit! Get it over with!" Dean shouted. At this point, he couldn't care less about what he was going to get himself into. This pain felt so much worse than a typical suturing process. He had been through it before with gashes and deep cuts. He couldn't describe it in words. It was only understood with feeling and he was desperate for it to end.

"Yes! I accept! Stop already!"

Those were the magic words. The simple act of acceptance could open the doors for anything and everything. The body, the mind, and the soul were all vulnerable now. Dean knew this. Whatever this necromancer wanted, he could take with ease. Deals were law and it was next to impossible to break them. At least without extraordinary circumstances. But the young man reached over to him, beginning to trace the blood around Dean's wound. Was he drawing some kind of blood sigil? Despite agonizing pain, the necromancer spoke with poise, ignoring his shivering body.

"With these threads, I bind you, Winchester. The seal of Fate. The wheel of blood. Our pain, our teacher. Take of my flesh as I have taken of you. Take my pain, my fear, my fury, as I take of you. We wake as ourselves no longer. Do you accept me, Winchester? Will you tread the leylines with me? Will you walk the lands beyond? Will you see what I see? I ask this of you... Will you brave the borders of the world? Or... will you return to the darkness once more?"

* * *

The door opened, the hinges creaking. Sam and Castiel watched as Dean lumbered out of the bathroom, hands covering his chest. He looked like he'd been without sleep for months. His movements were sluggish as he approached his bed. Sam stood up and rushed to his brother's side.

"Dean! What the hell happened in there? Are you okay?!" he asked.

Dean pushed his brother out of the way, meeting his eyes, before resuming his march and collapsing on his bed. The necromancer soon followed, leaving the bathroom in his robes and mask. He moved further before having to brace himself against a wall, leaning against it with both arms. Sam walked over to him, hoping for an explanation about the wailing. But the necromancer held up a hand, halting his advance. He pushed himself to his feet, gasping for air as if he ran a marathon.

"I... I just need a moment..." he gasped. He sounded like he had been crying. There was a distinct congestion to his voice like a plugged up nose. Sam turned around, bringing the chair from the desk over for the stranger to sit in. He accepted, sinking into it with relief.

"Is Dean okay? Did you do what you needed to?" Sam asked. Not even a minute had gone by before the questions would begin.

"Yes. I did," the stranger replied. He was already worn out but frustration began to bubble.

"What were you doing to him? It sounded horrible."

"I was stitching him up. Corpses need to be able to stick together. Except in this case, the corpse was kind of alive," he explained. He folded his hands over his lap, sitting straight up. Sam frowned, glaring at the necromancer.

"He has a name. You can call him by it. Don't call him a body or a corpse or whatever. He's my brother."

"Fine then. Dean will be functioning again once he manages to get some rest. As I told you last night, I am not here to force you to do my bidding or steal your souls. I know it sounds unlikely since I have this," he began, lifting the amulet out from his pockets. At first, Cas's ears perked up at the sound of the chain. But the sacred object got wrapped in silk, cloaking it from the angel's senses. "Dean's soul rests within this. You might have heard of soul gems before."

Sam had retrieved his laptop at this point, typing down what he could as if learning from a professor in class. The stranger let out another heavy sigh but decided against antagonizing any of them. For now.

"We created it to house souls. The gemstone kept his soul from flying around without supervision. In turn, protecting it from prying eyes and hungry creatures that would love to get a taste of him," he explained. He glanced over at Cas for a moment, Cas returning the gaze with a glare. "The reason it was used on Dean's soul was due to your encounter with that... thing."

"Billie did mention that. Do you know what that creature was? It's not something we've ever seen before," Sam asked, fidgeting in his chair.

"Do you have to refer to her like that? She is the current incarnation of Death. Though I suppose from what she's told me, you three don't particularly care for staying dead."

"Well... That's what we knew her as before she became Death so we're sticking to it. Besides, don't you have a name you go by?"

Sam waited for a reply but received nothing.

The stranger played with his hands, mask concealing what his face could be saying. He tried to muster something but he couldn't. "I... don't remember," he replied.

Sam looked up from his computer screen, brow raised. "You don't remember your own name?" he asked.

"I don't."

"What are we supposed to call you? Stranger? Guy? Hey you?" Sam asked, curious.

"I don't know! Death... Billie informed me that giving names to things would create a sense of attachment. Once we have restored the balance then I'll be back under her watch," he retorted, crossing his arms in defense.

"We're gonna have to call you something. I wouldn't ask Dean to come up with anything for now," warned Sam. "What about you Cas? Any ideas?"

The angel stood between the two beds in the room, eyes never leaving the ground in front of the necromancer. "I can think of a few things. But unfortunately, none of them would suit him," he said. Sam shook his head, feeling the mood sour further. A name would have at least added some familiarity to their new... friend. Something like that. But the stranger stood up, returning the chair to the desk. He made his way toward the door, stopping for one moment.

"I don't see the point in having a name. I will return at a later date. Watch your brother, won't you?"

Sam, feeling all sorts of awkward, scratched the back of his neck. "We will. Uh... Are you sure you're okay to head out?" he asked.

"Yes... I'll be fine," he replied. Reaching into his pockets, the stranger pulled out a small, crumpled up piece of paper, tossing it to Sam. On it was a set of written numbers.

"Call me if there's anything wrong with him. It's a work phone." Was that a hint of sarcasm? And with that, he exited the room, closing the door behind him. Sam shoved the note into his pocket and sighed before returning to the desk, placing his laptop on it.

"You didn't have to be so short with him. He seemed pretty worse for wear. If Dean can snore like that then he must be okay," Sam noted with a shaky chuckle. Cas' attention was on Dean now, watching the latter's back rise and fall. Dean was still only in his underwear, allowing the other two to see his sealed off wound. The suture seemed to hold against his movements but it was unpleasant to the eye. It's edges of torn skin were still visible. How was Dean still capable of respiration? There was no way a human heart could survive a fatal blow with a sharp weapon. Castiel placed his hand over the suture, trying his best not to disturb Dean's slumber. When he didn't wake, Cas took a breath and waited for it. The movement of his lungs seemed normal. However, there was something missing for proper blood flow; there was no beating sensation from the heart and yet...

"Sam," Cas began, stepping away toward the door. "I must tend to something. I will be back."

"Cas, please don't. Don't chase the guy down and smite him. We need him for God knows what," Sam begged, holding his head in both hands.

"I promise you that I will not resort to anything unsavory. I have more questions."

He knew it was a bad idea but there was no stopping Castiel. What was he going to do? Stubborn was Cas's middle and last name.

With the sound of the door closing, Sam sat back and looked back over to Dean. Someone was starting to snore much louder now.

* * *

His eyes saw red as he sauntered down the hallway. There was no doubt that he was going to have some strong words with the necromancer. Their conversation seemed to end before the most important bits. Dean's soul was being kept safe, or imprisoned, in a strange object. Dean's consciousness had returned to his body. There was movement, though sluggish or slow, and for all intents and purposes, he seemed alive. Cas had major concerns in regards to the entire situation. One lingering thought included divine retribution for obvious reasons. After all, the necromancer desecrated a corpse right in their bathroom.

Castiel stopped at a door on the opposite side of the floor. He gazed at the necromancer's trail with a silent indignation. He knocked on the door. He heard footsteps followed by the sound of a lock being undone. The doorknob twisted and opened only enough to be ajar before the footsteps left again. Cas let himself in, meeting an unlit room with light coming in through the blinds. The necromancer was sitting on the bed closer to the window, his robes falling onto the bed. The air conditioning was starting to kick in as he turned on one of the lamps above the bed. Castiel sat opposite to him.

"What do you want, angel?" he asked, removing another thick layer of his clothing.

"I need to know Dean's condition. I need to know what is happening to him," Cas responded with impatience. He wanted answers. Now.

The stranger sighed, donning a ratty, gray t-shirt. There was some sort of college team logo on it and it covered him down to his small boxer briefs. He leaned back on the bed, his arms hold him up. It looked like he wasn't scaring the angel away with a lack of pants. Castiel awaited an answer, holding his hands on his lap and slouching forward.

"Okay. Okay. I'll explain," he began. "Number one. When Dean Winchester passed, something severed the connection between his body and soul. I know that you know how all this stuff works. When a human being dies, their soul gets judged, criticized, and then sent off to boarding school. Whether they live to old age or get killed in an accident or even murdered, it doesn't matter. The soul must find its destination. But in the case of one foul-mouthed hunter, that creature did something to ignore that process. That's what I want to investigate."

"Souls are so valuable to a variety of beings. Why is it that, when it dealt that fatal blow, it left him?" asked Cas.

"That's it, isn't it? The million dollar question. From what Death... Billie observed and heard from her reapers, these creatures don't care. The murders here in Pittsburgh and beyond? They started a few weeks ago. That was about the same time one of her reapers had to got put down. I can only tell you he was on the track to insanity. That's where I come in," the stranger explained, stretching his lanky arms over and around his head. "I have Death's permission, her blessing, to use these powers as I see fit. I have been bound by her mark to help keep the balance in check."

"Is that why my powers could not harm you? The mark of Death?"

"I wouldn't say you couldn't harm me. You stopped cause you realized that I had Dean's soul."

Cas stood up, letting his arms fall to his sides. He took one step forward towards the stranger, looking down at him with a firm gaze. "You would do well to remember that. I do this only because of Dean. Where he goes, I will follow."

The stranger met Cas' gaze, expressionless. "And I do this for Death. She needed Dean Winchester to live. She needed you and Sam to be willing to face the coming storm. Dean's death was something that pushed the pieces closer together. His soul didn't get swept away and devoured like the others but Death intervened. She sort of has the Winchesters bookmarked for convenience."

"Continue with Dean. Why do his vital organs not function yet he can walk, talk, and sleep?"

"His consciousness it what drives his body. He is moving it through willpower alone. He won't need to eat, drink, sleep, or even relieve himself."

Castiel knew that Dean was strong but this was something else. Dean was willing himself to live, his radiant soul locked away. He had always seen his life as something expendable or sacrificial. Cas hated how the Winchesters would throw their lives away if the situation was dire enough. He wanted both Dean and Sam to live for as long as possible. Yet there was something about the stranger's statement that caught the angel's attention.

"Without his soul... Dean won't be completely there. Am I correct in this assumption?" he asked.

"Huh. And you looked so happy there in your little world. If you're wondering about the degradation of his personality, then no. That won't happen. Dean won't have violent tendencies or mood swings or psychosis. His soul isn't out and about, waiting for him to rescue it. I have it. As long as Dean can be near his own soul, then he won't change. Much."

With that, Castiel sat back down, his expression beginning to soften. There was nothing more terrifying than a Dean with no humanity. Everyone knew this, especially his companions.

"How do we fix him? What is stopping his soul from entering his body?"

"I can't tell you. That's what we need to investigate. Could there be a ritual for such a thing? Was it the weapon that the creature used? Who knows?"

"And... earlier you mentioned something. Something could have devoured his soul. Devoured by what?" the angel asked, intrigued and anxious at the same time. The stranger sat upright now, thoughtful. He needed the right words to string together. Panic was the enemy of any rational thinker.

"I don't know. There's going to be many questions you have for me that I don't know. The souls of the recently deceased attracted the reapers. And when those reapers arrived, those souls vanished. Disappeared off the radar. At least, that was what I had heard. Look, I'm pretty exhausted. Can this continue later?" he asked, rubbing his temples. Castiel nodded, turning to leave. He found out what he needed to know and that eased his mind for now. Dean was going be Dean and that was enough. The necromancer seemed agreeable, willing to work with them once tempers went away. He heard the lamp turn off as he reached the door, twisting the knob. But he stopped, turning back to see the stranger standing behind him, arms crossed.

"Well? What's wrong now?" he asked. Cas looked him up and down for a moment.

"A name. I have a name for you," he mused.

"What," the stranger replied, confused by the sudden shift in tone.

"I thought it wouldn't fit you but I was wrong."

"Why would I care about that? I don't need a name. I already told you it's stupid," he declared. Cas caught something in that response. Something that he had learned to pick up on during his time with the Winchesters. Vocal cues. Facial features. Body language.

"Why do you think having a name is so wrong? Even Death has a name. Could it be that you are... embarrassed?"

"Ah...! No! That's not it at all!" he retorted, raising his voice. When he realized it, the stranger turned his back to the angel in a huff. "...Fine. What would you call me, oh angel of the Lord?"

"... Izrael," Cas answered. "It's a variation of a name given to one of my brothers. He was often believed by humans to be the angel of death. Though there are varying ranges of embellishment, I thought it would be befitting."

The stranger stayed quiet, shoulders rising and falling with every breath. It sounded strange by definition and he had every right to find it ridiculous. But he had to admit, not out loud to anyone, that it was kind of cool to borrow a name. Especially one that has significance to his profession. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded. He raised a hand to his mask, pushing it up and off of his face, lost in his thoughts. For some reason, he felt rather... nice. He shook his head of the feeling before meeting Cas' eyes, flushed.

"I'll think about it. You run along now... Um... Castiel," said the necromancer, kicking Cas out. With that, the door closed and locked.

Castiel stood there at the door, dumbstruck. Staring back at the peephole, the angel thought long and hard about what he had seen. Nothing made sense anymore and he was uncertain whether he would ever make sense of it. The case felt wrong. Dean had felt wrong. The necromancer and Death's involvement was alarming. It seemed that every step they took was leading them further down to the realm of strangeness. Even walking to this hotel room was anything but normal.

Castiel was staring at it, back in the room with Dean and Sam. When Dean left the bathroom, it was there. When Sam and the necromancer were speaking, it was there. It led the angel to the correct room without fail. The path was laden with red. Strings were hanging off of Dean's body, slithering on the floor and through the building. They ended, in the necromancer's own hand, bloody and mangled. Sam couldn't see it. How could he? What was Castiel to say to him? That Dean was strung up to the stranger like a puppet to its master? Any chance of helping Dean would have gone straight out the window. But this was far in the back of Cas' mind. What caused the sudden shift in the angel's mood was the eyes. When the necromancer removed his mask, there should have been two beady, brown eyes. The eyes he saw when they interlocked in their power struggle yesterday. The eyes he saw when he wanted nothing more than to smite him by his own hand.

There was no mistaking it. The eyes he saw now weren't brown. They were beautiful, haunting, and confusing. They were familiar.

He had _Dean’s_ eyes.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	4. Remnants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their investigation begins in two separate places. Sam and Cas chase a witness while Dean is forced back to the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I apologize for the long wait. Work and home life has been busy and finding time to sit down and write has been difficult. However, ideas keep popping into my head and that kept me wanting to share them with you all. Thank you for reading.

* * *

_It was warm, bathing in the nest of blankets._

_Dean felt heat, enveloping him and melting away the snowflakes on the window. He wasn’t sure where he was but it felt like a home. A permanent home that was always waiting after a bad day, familiar and welcoming. Shadows walked outside, attending to their mundane lives._

_There were voices coming from downstairs, sneaking into his room under the door. They sounded angry, each word like a sharp dagger stabbing at the peace. Dean felt resentment deep within himself, a tiny seed planted. The voices faded away and he was thankful for the loosening of the vice on his heart._

_The door squeaked as a woman walked in. He didn’t turn to look at her but he could see her reflection in the window against the brightness of a nearby lamp. Soft, black hair fell from her head and her clothes smelled of clean linen when she sat down next to him. She looked too young to be a mother. Her eyes hid a great remorse that stung at her smile. She spoke but her mouth was unable to create sound. Pain welled up within him, a trickling font of inner turmoil. He had heard it all before and there wouldn't be a difference when it happened again. It only caused him pain. He didn’t want to listen. All he did was listen and he was sick of it._

_He kept staring out into the snowy neighborhood, unable to pry his eyes from the sheet of glass. It was the only thing that separated the sanctuary of home from the dangers of the outside world. He knew that snow dampened sound and felt a frown form. He wished that the noise pollution of the outside world would drown out his thoughts. If there was one voice that he didn't want to hear, it was his own. His thoughts were always a jumbled pot of hope and fear of the receding and rising tides._

_As the snow fell, he fixed his eyes on the walking shadows, hoping that someone was looking back at him._

* * *

Once morning came, Sam dragged himself towards the bathroom, hoping it would wake him up. There was a sharp scent in the air that stung his nose in a pleasant way. It was pungent but sweet in a spicy way. As he removed his shirt and shorts, Sam froze, memories of last night coming back sharp. He panicked for a moment and wondered. Was there blood or bones or something disgusting left somewhere? There were some _Evil Dead_ vibes coming from this room and Sam wasn't ready to deal with it yet. After a quick sweep through blurry eyes, he calmed himself with some deep breaths.

“Hello, Sam,” said Cas. Sam spun around, muffling a shocked noise.

“Shit! Don’t _do_ that!” he whispered. Cas frowned as his hands curled around a brown paper bag.

“My apologies. I thought I would let the two of you sleep in.”

“Sleep in? What time is it?” Sam asked, pushing the door closed but not all the way. Even though Castiel had seen worse, the younger Winchester still had some shame to bare. Cas peeked through the space with one eye.

“It's almost 10:30. I have breakfast for us but the grease is working fast,” he muttered, eyes darting down to a brown paper bag. The shower turned on and water began splashing about as Sam reappeared at the door.

“I’ll be out. Hang on,” he said with an uncomfortable smile. He wasn’t sure if it was Cas’ continued lack of boundaries or last night’s screaming that was picking at him. Regardless, he shut the door, dampening the sound of rushing water.

Cas sighed as he walked over to the table where Sam’s laptop was charging. He set down some napkins he had gotten from the restaurant before placing the greasy bag on top. He then sat down in the chair, swiveling it around to get a good look at the snoring pile of Dean Winchester. The bed was a complete disaster. The blankets twisted in every which way, in and around his legs and arms. There were wet spots at the corner of the pillow from saliva. Dean himself was clad only in his underwear and Cas swore he had seen this painting somewhere in Italy.

Despite not needing sleep, Castiel still felt worn. His mind felt like it could split into two pieces at a moment’s notice. Trailing after the two Winchesters brought unpredictability to his life. Doubt was an itch that was difficult to scratch. Every question felt like a hydra. When he found answers to one question, two more would take its place.

“Mm…” Dean moaned, shifting in his nest. “Bacon…”

Cas’s brow rose as he turned to the sleeping form. He smiled with fondness, knowing Dean wasn't watching.

“There’s breakfast waiting for you. If you wake up that is,” he challenged. Dean couldn’t resist the call of crispy bacon and savory eggs and he lifted himself up, eyes still closed. His nose crinkled, taking in the aroma, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

“Dunkin’?” he asked.

“I read his name was Brandon.”

“No, dumbass. The place you went to,” Dean fired as his eyes fluttered open. Cas was apprehensive at first but relief washed over him at the sight of the green in his eyes. They then made a beeline to the bag and Dean threw off the covers, scrambling to find some pants and a ratty shirt to wear. He was clumsy at first, fumbling with his hands and shaky legs. It would be comical if not for last night.

“Don’t overexert yourself, Dean. Take your time. Please,” Cas asked, a slight crease of worry drawn over his forehead.

“I’m all here. Sort of,” Dean replied, standing straight up. He checked his shoulders, chest and stomach, around to the back of his legs, and then gave Cas a thumbs up. Finding all his limbs intact shouldn’t have been anyone's first concern in the morning. He reached in the bag for a sandwich, unwrapped it, and dug right in. He had almost forgotten that he missed a day and a half’s worth of meals.

“Damn, that hit the spot. Phew!” he exclaimed. It was the perfect cure for a hangover but he was still hungry and wasn't hungover. Sam was still in the shower so he pried his eyes away from the second sandwich.

“I don’t believe you would want that one, Dean. It was the only 'healthy' item I could find on their menu,” said Cas, shrugging his shoulders. Dean winced as he realized that it was some kind of green eggs and ham hybrid and sat back down on his bed. Cas kept his eyes planted on him. Dean felt it and snorted.

“I know, I know. I got more of it on me than in me. Funny stuff,” he said, wiping his mouth with the bottom of his shirt. His hand lingered on the feeling of the soft fabric, relishing in his sense of touch.

“Do you feel alright?” Cas asked, eyes falling to the blankets on the bed. Dean shuffled in place, looking up at the ceiling.

“I’m fine, Cas. Sore as hell but I’m good,” he replied. He placed a hand over the suture, hissing as he felt a burning sensation. It wasn’t anywhere _near_ as horrible as the process itself but it was still painful. “Where the hell is that guy anyway?”

“He is staying in the hotel as well.”

“Oh? I thought necromancers needed to crawl into a dark hole somewhere,” he replied. He crossed his arms and eyed Cas with suspicion.

“He’s not a vampire, Dean.”

“You say that like it makes anything better. Did you see what that guy did to me in there?” Dean asked, falling into an accusatory tone. He didn’t mean to but it came out regardless. Castiel lowered his head, fiddling with his hands. Guilt was forming on his face, a mask he was too used to wearing.

“Yes. I did,” he began. “I had no choice but to-“

“You made a deal with him, didn’t you?”

“…Yes.”

“What did he ask for?” he asked. Dean bent forward, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. He was not ready for any kind of answer to that question but he wanted one anyway. Castiel sat up and stared into Dean’s eyes, wanting to get his honesty across.

“He asked me what I would do to get your soul back. I swore that I would do anything to that end. Anything,” he replied. He had raised his voice, making it firm but not menacing. He meant every word. Dean’s brow rose and his mouth hung open.

“Wait. What about my soul?” he asked. He looked down at his hands, flipping them over to see his palms. He wasn’t shaken and he didn’t feel different. He could walk, talk, eat, see, hear, and all that good stuff that comes with a brain.

“You’re soulless right now, Dean. You’re alive and conscious but your soul is no longer in your body.”

“Hold the fucking phone. Are we having some Soulless Sam's Greatest Hits bullshit going on again?” Dean growled, his temper rising. Memories flashed back to a time when Sam was a complete and total sociopath, freed from the bonds of a soul. He was rude, violent, and above all, completely numb to empathy toward others. It was terrifying to see his little brother act so far out of line to his values and beliefs. Castiel stood up and walked over to Dean, sitting down next to him.

“No. I don’t believe so. You’re still you,” he replied with a weak smile. Something in Cas' tone and eyes said that he was hiding something away and Dean glowered at him.

“How do you know?" he asked, shaking his head. "How do you know I’m not gonna flip shit at the slightest inconvenience? Huh? You thought Sammy was bad when that happened? What’s gonna happen if I start going all Patrick Bateman on you guys?”

“I’m not sure I know who that is,” Cas replied, barely audible.

“That’s not the point, Cas. Okay? We can’t go through that shit again. Where the fuck is my soul?” he asked. Cas sighed and broke eye contact, looking down at his hands on his lap. An awkward silence came upon them as the sound of rushing water halted.

Within moments, Sam emerged from the bathroom. He clothed himself in full and wiped away at his hair when he noticed the two of them. He approached with trepidation, hearing Dean raising his voice through the walls. He was already bracing himself for impact.

“Dean! You’re up! Are you okay?” he asked as he folded up the towel. Dean scowled. Sam’s voice held the same amount of concern as last night.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Sammy. I’m good. Great even. I found out that I don’t have a soul,” said Dean, standing up. His expression was both angry and confused but the brunt of it wasn't to them. But his body language was becoming hostile as he passed by. He sent Cas another sharp glare.

Sam stood his ground, lifting his chin and frowning at "Sammy". “Yeah. About that-“ he began.

“No, no, no. Uh-uh,” Dean interrupted with forced laughter. “Don’t beat around the bush. What the hell happened after I got stabbed?”

“I’m not going to hide anything from you, Dean. I wanted to know if you weren’t feeling well, you know? Like a worried little brother?”

“Are you kidding me?! I should be even _more_ pissed at both of you! You made a deal with some stranger on the corner to bring me back to life?! Hey? Remember that time I did that? Remember when that fucked me in the ass so bad I ended up needing Cas to help me do my walk of shame back topside?!”

Sam crossed his arms as his face twisted to match his brother’s.

“Yeah! I do! This wasn’t a crossroads demon, Dean. This was something else and I knew that it wasn’t going to be as bad, okay?”

“Oh yeah? How the fuck do you know that?” asked Dean, flipping his hands in the air.

“I agreed to it first!” Cas yelled. He was standing now, his back to the two brothers. His hands curled into shaky fists as he spoke. Dean and Sam looked over at him, their expressions softening.

“Cas…” Sam let his arms down at his sides.

“No. _I_ was the one who took the deal. Not Sam. He happened to be there at the time.” Cas shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “I agreed to help him if it meant getting you back. I didn’t hesitate and I don’t regret it. You’re here, Dean. You’re alive. I'm still here and Sam is too.”

“I’m not saying- Look I-” Dean muttered. He couldn’t keep the steam in his head with Cas scolding the two of them. He could imagine Cas’ pained expression looking out the window.

“I didn’t agree to anything unsavory. I didn’t offer my grace or my powers or anyone’s soul. I offered to help, Dean. That’s all I did."

"Cas, come on. Wasn't there any other way?" Dean asked, staring into Cas' messy hair. The angel hung his head and walked up to Dean, his expression hung with a sense of defeat. But he looked into Dean's eyes.

"Didn't you think I would have done all that I could that night? I'm not weak, Dean. I tried to heal you. When I touched you and you didn't..." Cas' voice faltered as he played the memory again.

"Cas..." Dean uttered, taking a step forward and reaching for Cas' shoulder. Cas backed away and shook his head.

"All the powers I have and I still couldn't save you, Dean. The darkest recesses of Hell and the brightest flames of Heaven could not stop me. And yet..." he explained. His words hit a sore spot within Dean, filling him with guilt over his outburst. Cas was always going to try to help. He may not have had the greatest track record for keeping everyone happy with his decisions. Yet his intentions were always biased toward keeping Dean and Sam safe. Sometimes treading the thin line of trust was the only way to go. Dangerous liaisons and alliances helped Cas reached his ultimate goals. Why was this situation any different?

"You couldn't bring me back, could you?" Dean asked, his throat dry. He pointed towards the wound on his chest as he continued, voice croaking. "That was gonna be it?"

Cas nodded and Sam approached him , standing at his side. He shot Dean a look that only the most innocent of puppies could muster. Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and sat down at Sam's bed. Looking down at the ground seemed the best and lamest course of action. But he couldn't find the right words that could strengthen his argument. He never believed in getting a "get out of jail free" card. Especially when that card came from supernatural entities. Humans were always thrown into the crossfire and no one ever escaped unscathed. Last night proved that notion, inspired by the Human Centipede. There was a part of him that felt violated and the pain in his chest was a constant reminder. 

Before the awkward silence could settle in, there was a knock at the door. Without another word, Sam left Cas' side and approached it. He snuck a peek through the peephole first. He squinted, wondering if it was room service or something. But a vibrating sensation in his pocket grabbed his attention. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished for it, glancing at the words that showed up on the screen.

_I'm here._

"Did you get my text?" said the visitor. Sam sighed and, against all better judgment, opened the door. As they walked in, Dean did a double-take and Cas tilted his head in curiosity. The stranger swapped the thick robes and the ornate mask for a style more akin to casual college student. He wore a gray v neck shirt with two black buttons at the v. It matched with a dark pair of jeans that fit his slim legs, ending in a shiny pair of black boots. A flowing, black cardigan dominated most of his body, covering his arms and reaching down to his knees. He adjusted his glasses up along the bridge of his nose and shook his head, getting some of his hair out of his eyes. Cas had to look away when he caught himself staring.

"Were you expecting someone else?" he asked, crossing his arms and lifting his head up. Dean narrowed his eyes and raised a corner of his mouth.

"Didn't realize you could learn necromancy at your local library with a soy milk latte," he spat. The young man shrugged.

"Don't you know? Most monsters try to blend into society. You three should know all about that."

"Excuse me?" Dean was getting pissed off again, his hands grasping at the comforter on the bed into little balls. "You got something you wanna say, Frankenstein?"

"Dean," Sam interjected, sensing his rising temper. The stranger smirked and strolled past Dean and Castiel, taking a sit at the desk where Sam's laptop laid.

"Are you going to tell us what you want?" Sam asked, glancing at the door to make sure it locked. But the stranger was busy looking at Cas, his hands joining together on his lap. He looked calm and poised which irritated the fuck out of Dean. Cas was looking almost embarrassed, letting his head lower and his shoulders rise. That look was both endearing and worrisome to the Winchesters.

"Castiel," the stranger began. "After much deliberation, I have decided to accept your suggestion."

That made Dean's skin crawl and Sam's eyes wide. Cas lifted his head, surprised, and finally turned to face the necromancer. However, Sam spoke out first. "Cas? What is he talking about?"

There was a reason Castiel was never allowed to play poker.

"It's nothing. I had questions so I sought out answers. It's a work in progress," he replied. The stranger leaned forward, soaking in the sudden awkwardness with a mischievous grin.

"Angels are even more delightful than I thought. What was it they always said in the Bible? Fear not?" he mused. "Look at me, Castiel."

Cas rolled his eyes around and met with the young man's gaze, dazed by the feeling he got from those eyes.

"You can call me by the name you picked out if you so wish. I already told you that I accepted it."

"Wait. What?" Sam asked, the tension falling from his shoulders in an instant. "Cas decided to give you a name?"

"Yes," the angel answered. "I thought it would be prudent to be able to refer to him in familiar manner. Better than 'necromancer' or 'that guy' for an extended period of time."

"I thought Frankenstein was a pretty good one," said Dean, leering sharply at the young man. "I pick freak. Or spiteful dick would work too."

"If you get to call me a spiteful dick then I get to give you flowers. What do you like? Pansies?"

Sam had to catch a snort before it escaped and alerted Dean that he wanted a swift kick in the ass. He wasn't used to people being able to handle Dean's bad side. Before Dean could come up with another insult, Castiel stood between the two.

"I decided to offer the name of one of my fallen brothers. Izrael. I’m sure you’ve heard of it through your research," he explained. Sam nodded and Dean scoffed.

The young man's smile scaled back down and he leaned back against the chair. "I thought Izrael would be too strange but there are worse names for kids these days. So feel free to use it and I'll use yours but enough about me. I have some work for you three so buckle up."

* * *

"Her body's missing?" Sam asked. The article that Izrael pulled up on his laptop had an unsettling follow-up on the case regarding Nisha Hult. The authorities had found traces of forced entry and signs of a struggle. But when they had gone up with a team to extract the body, they met with an empty bed with no mattress. The thread that wrapped around the bed posts were also taken. According to the video that played on its own, some neighbor heard a struggle.

"Shit. You think they have anything on us?" Dean asked, putting his plaid shirt over his black one. "Can't say I wouldn't look good in a mugshot though."

Sam groaned, rolling his eyes, and scrolled back through the article. Izrael hounded Cas with a series of lightning questions, enjoying the mental prodding. The angel had his moments with saint-like patience but this was a whole new level of social sadism. The guy was asking Cas about his thoughts and opinions on a variety of topics. Cas kept replying with short and simple answers but the questions kept rolling out. Izrael was dead set on making him as uncomfortable as possible. Dean, sensing Cas' obvious discomfort, crossed his arms and frowned.

"Can't you leave Cas alone, Frankenstein? Don't you have some bones to dig up or something?" he says, hiding a teeny bit of venom with all his sarcasm. Cas breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the intervention.

"I don't have a Facebook."

"Hey. More power to you."

Cas allowed a slight smile to form despite his gloomy mood. Dean counted one victory point for himself and smirked. Izrael went and sat down by the window, ignoring Dean, and looked over at Sam.

"Please look up the location for Mercy Behavioral Hospital," he requested. He somehow sounded rather neutral this time which Sam was glad for. Izrael could just exhale and it would sound antagonizing.

"Why? What's there?"

"You'll find a Brandi Shearer cooped up there. Her family insisted she check herself in," he replies, nonchalant. He was checking his fingernails, making sure there wasn't too much gray crowning them. "A little birdie told me that she had seen too much at that little house in Oakland."

Silence engulfed the room as everyone turned to look at Izrael at the window.

"How the hell do you know about that?" Dean asked, incredulous. Izrael shrugged.

"How do you think I caught your little soul before it flew away like a firefly, Winchester?"

"That's not an answer."

"Okay then. A big birdie with a scary scythe told me to catch your little soul before it flew away. I thought the other Winchester would have told you already."

Dean turned back to Sam and realized that they never had a chance to finish their discussion earlier. Sam closed his laptop and swiveled the chair around to face his brother.

"Before you say anything, I'll just tell you know, okay?" he stated, raising his hands in defense. Dean glowered at him but didn't speak.

"When we were bringing you back to the hotel, I got caught by Billie." He omitted the fact that Billie was sitting on Dean's Baby on purpose. "She told me that she needed us to help her with something. Something big is happening and even she can't stop it. She's Death and she can't do anything about it. I guess she assumed that since we like to bend and break rules that we would be the best choice to look into it."

"So tall, dark, and scary asked us to investigate the supernatural on her behalf? I don't buy it. Billie doesn't break rules and she definitely wants to reap the _shit_ out of us. She's helped us out a few times before but that doesn't mean she isn't still trying to kill our asses."

"Then why have a third party come in to help us, Dean? She told me she was going to send someone to meet Cas and I and then Izrael shows up with your soul in hand. Don't forget that _he_ brought you back, Dean."

Izrael cleared his throat until he had their attention. He then adjusted his glasses to comfort. "Don't mistake me bringing you back as some kind of favor to you. I have my orders and I'm going to carry out my mission. I don't need you to like me and I'm not going to care either way. Now if you're finished, I'm taking the big Winchester with me back to Oakland. Little Winchester should take Castiel here to the hospital," he declared. Sam raised his brow as he put his laptop away in his bag.

"You want me?" he asked, confused.

"No. You're the little Winchester. The younger one, right?"

"Yeah but... I'm the taller one."

"I'm sure most people don't notice. Go talk to this Brandi and get information out of her. I've heard that you like playing the good cop. Meanwhile, I'll take the bad cop to inspect the house to make sure there isn't anything..." Izrael trailed off as he cups a hand around his chin, thinking to himself. "Let's say that the situation isn't easy to keep in line. The more you find out, the more dangerous things get. I'm certain that I don't need to tell you twice but be careful and keep your guard up. I don't know how far the roots go on this one."

"You okay with that, Cas?" Sam asked. It was rare that he found himself teamed up with Castiel but he wouldn't complain.

The angel turned from his spot on the side of Dean's bed to look up at Sam. "I won't object to that. Let's leave right now," he replied. Before Sam could ask what was wrong, Cas was already out the door in a huff. Izrael followed suit without another word. The Winchesters were alone for the first time today in what seemed like forever. It was then that Dean could finally sink his fingers into Sam's shoulders.

"Sam. What the fuck? Billie took time out of her oh so busy schedule to get you to do her dirty work?" he asked. Sam couldn't deny it but he was getting sick of Dean’s constant interrogations. 

"We didn't have much choice! We're the ones who decided to come here on a hunt."

"_You_ decided that this was worth looking into and it kind of became a giant shit fest!"

"Yes! I know, Dean! I already feel like shit about it, okay? I'm sorry! It's my fault that you fucking died. Does that make you feel better?!"

"Damn it. I didn't mean to sound like I was blaming you, okay? I'm just saying if we can find a way out of this mess then we take it. I don't like owing anyone _anything_!"

"Dean. We're kind of indebted to this guy and by that logic, Billie too. I don't think he's... that evil or anything but I definitely don't trust him."

Dean released his grip on his brother, thankful that they can at least agree on one thing. Izrael grabbed Dean from Death's door but for what reason? The two of them couldn't say that everything went well for them in the past. Hello? Apocalypse? Angels falling from the sky? Unleashing the literal Darkness? Their track record almost always pointed south like a falling stock chart. Did it have something to do with their ancestry? Sure the two of them have a wealth of knowledge, weapons, allies (and enemies), and an angel they can't shake (and won't). But what makes Billie think that they can handle this new brand of whatever the fuck? This was new territory and they're already tallying their first mark on biting the dust. If they were going to get to the bottom of all this then they were going to have to hold onto basics. Hunters versus monsters was still the name of the game.

"By the way, what was wrong with Cas?" inquired Sam. "You think he's bummed that he's not going with you?"

Dean shrugged, unsure. "Hell if I know. I'm not the one who can read minds."

Sam gathered the rest of his things before shooting Dean a sharp look. Dean sighed and raises one hand up, eyes up towards the ceiling, surrendering. "I solemnly swear that I will not try to salt the shit out of Frankenstein."

* * *

The Birmingham Bridge disappeared from view as the Impala rode on to South Side. Dean could see the hustle of the beloved and infamous Carson St. It was a line of old and new buildings that sported large windows and colorful signs. Restaurants and bars littered the streets with a few banks. Smaller, independent business wedged themselves between the cracks. People from all walks of life whizzed by the Chevy in a panorama of colors. Small families waded by with strollers or children. College students planned their evening excursions. This place was brimming with life and that brought a sense of comfort that the previous days had shaken.

"Dude. We are definitely coming down here for some drinks later," said Dean, smirking. He hadn't had a beer in a few grueling days. The thought of riding in, plopping on a bar stool, and cracking a cold one sounded amazing. He was especially interested in a dive bar in the middle of a block titled The Smiling Moose. "You'd feel right at home, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes but had to admit that it sounded like a cool place. But that wasn't what they were here for. They decided to drive out as soon as possible to get back to investigating the murders. Mercy Behavioral was hiding a few blocks to their left, away from the busy streets of Carson. The residential housing screamed dingy and weathered. The roads tied with Swiss cheese for most holes per square feet. Pittsburgh had an obsession with potholes and Dean did not appreciate any of it. Once the hospital was in sight, Dean hit the brakes and waited for his brother and Cas to exit the vehicle.

"You guys gonna be good without me?" he asked, leaning an arm out of his window. Sam pursed his lips and nodded.

"Shouldn't be too much of an issue. They have a crisis center for patients who are in a state of emergency. Sounds like a voluntary check-in and check-out to me. Besides, Cas' got my back, right Cas?" he asked. Castiel was standing on the sidewalk now, taking in the sights and smells. It must not have been great as he grimaced when he turned around to speak to both brothers.

"I sense a significant amount of regret," he whispered. Dean laughed and Sam hid a smirk. He was quiet during the car ride but he seemed to feel better as they drove. He even commented on several sets of stairs he noticed in strange places all over.

Dean attributed it to exposure to the most frustrating grad student with a borrowed name. None of them complained at his absence but Sam was wary of leaving his brother. But Dean was also keen on finding ways to escape the agreement with Izrael. It wasn't a deal, but an agreement. It didn't sound much better.

"Let me know when you guys finish up and I'll come back. Scope out a few joints out here," said Dean. He turned to Cas and his smile faded. "Hey. You okay?"

Cas forced a smile and nodded. "I'm fine, Dean. Please be careful when you meet with Izrael," he replied.

"I'm the one with all the guns so I'll be good."

* * *

With that, Sam and Cas headed off towards Mercy Hospital. Dean sped off into the distance, returning to the bridge he had crossed earlier. Oakland was nearby but still far enough to warrant a drive. Tension was lurking around in the Impala and Dean was the only one there to feel it. Turning on some AC/DC helped but he couldn't stop wondering about the way Cas was acting back at the hotel. Izrael must have spooked him real bad that night but what could scare an angel? Necromancers were humans that adopted some depraved hobbies. With them came a resistance to the stench of rotting flesh and a lot of dead friends. Even so, they were still humans. If he wasn't so sure that something awful would happen if he popped a bullet right in Izrael's head, then... Well, he had better shake the thought before he got too hasty. He may not have liked the situation but he wasn't going to give in to it either.

His mind wandered back to last night to the bathroom. He thought about being unable to move and the brutal wound that decorated his chest. He almost reached over and touched it again but a phantom pain intervened, aching. He scowled as he continued to drive, wondering what kind of mess they were all getting dragged into. What more could go on with this messed up world? There were already children around the world who had never tasted a homemade pie before! That was the real travesty here. Dean chuckled to himself as he flashed mental images of driving a pie van around the world. It was better than thinking about ending up as Billie's little errand boy.

Once he decided that his parallel parking was good enough for an award, Dean stepped out. He found himself back in the familiar cradle of suburban life. It was cloudy today but slivers of sunlight broke through in a few places. It was as quiet as the first night and seeing the house a few blocks away tightened a knot somewhere in his chest. Police tape sealed off the house, contrasting with the rest of the humble suburb. It used to be a normal little house with a normal woman in a normal life. No one deserved what she got and now she was gone, whisked away without warning and without a trace.

As Dean approached the building, he saw Izrael standing at the corner of the sidewalk. With earbuds in, he must not have noticed that anyone was watching, mouthing the words to himself. On any other day, Izrael would have looked like any other young adult in Oakland. Trudging through life with small comforts like music and friendship. But life has a funny way of changing people, for better or worse. Once Izrael noticed Dean was staring, he pulled the earbuds out of both his ears. He tucked both items away, his face flushed with a scowl. He shook his head, expression becoming that neutral, apathetic look that he was so used to wearing.

"Glad you could make it, Winchester," he said, holding his hands behind his back. "I hope that's your game face cause I'm gonna need all the help I can get."

"Let's get this over with. I'm itchin' for crawl down South Side later," Dean replied, putting his hands in pockets. He had stashed his gun on his person what with the broad daylight and all. Izrael nodded and led Dean back toward the house. Despite it being the middle of the day, there was no one in sight within this block. The police weren't around which made everything about the house much more menacing. Once they reached the backyard, the two of them could see the taped up door. The shards of glass glittered on the back porch. A dried splotch of dark red and black flared up the memory of intense pain within Dean. He took a quick look over his shoulder to check for any spectators before approaching Izrael. "Any ideas on getting in without ticking off the cops?" 

"Hm... Give me a sec," Izrael replied, eyeing one of the first floor windows. Dean caught his gaze and shook his head. The young man approached one of the glass panes as if to open one of the windows with no gloves and no help. But Izrael stared into the glass, his hands at his sides and the wind catching his cardigan and hair. Dean rolled his eyes and started strolling forward, wanting to waste no more time here. He was about to complain but his voice caught when he realized that Izrael was talking to someone. His eyes locked onto the window and Dean inched his eyes over to the glass. The blinds weren't there anymore. They were down before, obscuring vision into the house, weren't they? He looked back at Izrael with a puzzled frown.

"What the hell are you doing?" he whispered. He wasn't sure why he lowered his voice. But the necromancer continued his imaginary conversation until he turned to Dean. Izrael was solemn and his usual smug aura was gone.

"We're going to the shed," said Izrael, pointing to the sized storage unit at the very back of the house's backyard.

"Why? Tools or something?" Dean asked.

"A little chat with Nisha's great aunt clued me in on another way into the house. It wasn't exactly a legal addition but it's there. Let's get to it before people start wondering why a strange man and his boy companion are lurking around." 

"Her great aunt? You also a ghost whisperer or something?" he inquired, looking back at the window and shitting himself as he locked eyes with a little girl staring at him. She looked very young, only recently reaching double digits in age. She was pale and her brown hair tied up in pigtails on both sides of her head. Her dress was white and ruffled with a little necklace adorning her neck. For a little girl, she had the gravest stare that could give even the most bundled person a case of frostbite. She broke eye contact after what seemed like an eternity. She then turned around and vanished back towards the house. Dean swallowed and started walking over to the shed with Izrael in tow. 

"That was her great aunt?" Dean asked, clearing his throat. "Why was she showing herself as a kid?"

"She was never an adult, Winchester," Izrael replied, receiving a huff from Dean. "She passed away at the tender age of ten in the house. Something about being too poor to afford a doctor. She said she liked to play hide-and-seek around the house and sometimes wound up in the shed if she really wanted to disappear but... I suspect she was a little bit of a cheater."

The doors of the shed creaked open and the two of them met with a barrage of old tools and unused lawn equipment. There wasn't much room for anything else. But Izrael seemed determined to weave past the clutter and around the old lawnmower. Dean was bigger than him in every way so he had to perform some emergency feng shui to get through. Getting nicked by anything in here would definitely warrant a trip to the hospital. Sam would have a field day if that ever happened. After some uncomfortable movements, Dean finally joined Izrael in the back. A tower of old boxes and containers surrounded the two of them, dusty and forgotten. Luckily, the shed seemed airtight and proofed against weather. 

"Secret passage? Spare house keys?" he asked. Izrael nodded and then shook his head, answering both questions. Boxes aside, rope and old papers littered the floor, dried up and useless. The rope was old though, splintering here and there with threads that hung together. Boxes were dusty and threatened their lungs if either of them exhaled in the wrong direction. 

"She said she was always hiding in the corner and when someone went to check the shed, she would find the spot, close her eyes, and..."

"And what?" Dean asked, continuing to search for "the spot". Despite Barbara being a ghost girl, Dean still had a knack for honing in on what kids mean when they talk. Kids were honest and their words never had double meanings in them. Most of the time anyway. When she said she would find the spot, she must have marked it with something. A little note? A beloved toy or something? Children were smarter than their parents gave them credit for.

Izrael kicked some of the rope away, clearing the floor of the mess so they could investigate easier. "She would step in and wide up back in the house again."

Dean moved a box out of the corner and sighed, seeing nothing of particular interest. When the dust settled away, an inconspicuous object caught his eye. There were some fragments of rope scattered around and beneath. Even on top of boxes. But there was a particularly long, unwound thread that was sprouting out of the corner of the floor. It stood straight up against the bottom of the wall as if held up by something. Aside from being dirty, the material was a dullish pink. Dean crouched down at the corner and tugged at it, using his fingernails to grab hold. Sure enough, as he pulled, more of it came up until it snagged on something and ripped. Izrael leaned forward towards Dean, trying to get a glimpse of his discovery. Dean was about to turn around when a sound made him freeze in place. 

"Oh shi-!" he cried as he scrambled to get away but both of his legs fell through the floor. There was nothing to grab onto with his hands. It had to be him, didn't it?

Izrael, caught off guard, watched as Dean disappeared down the hole. A couple seconds later, there was a thud and a yelp so he assumed that Dean was fine. He might feel a bruise here and there but nothing fatal. Billie had mentioned that the Winchesters were both tenacious and insufferable. An effortless and irritating package.

Izrael turned and faced the transparent Barbara whose eyes were sunken and lips pale. He flashed her a half-hearted smile and she nodded in acknowledgement. Her form continued to deteriorate, decomposing as if time was speeding up for her. It wouldn't be long before the maggots began to emerge.

"We'll find you, okay? Dean's a good guy. A little thick in the head but I can tell he's a good person. He'll know what to do," he said, assuring a disappearing Barbara. Once she was gone, Izrael sat at the edge of the hole, putting his feet in first as if testing the waters. He took a deep breath, exhaled, adjusted his glasses, and slid down further into the rabbit hole.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**


End file.
